


Sky Touched

by AntlersandFangs, Celtic_Lass



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Culture Shock, Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Misunderstandings, Modern Girl in Thedas, Oc never played DLC’s, Reincarnation, The Game meets Avvar sense, Twins, Unreliable Narrator, With a twist!, a lot of handwashing tho, extremely and unapologetically self indulgent, sibling characters, so don't expect too much realism, tags to be added as we go, this is completely meant for our amusement, yes i have a thing for accidental marriages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntlersandFangs/pseuds/AntlersandFangs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Lass/pseuds/Celtic_Lass
Summary: Lugh had always known his sister was sky touched. She had knowledge beyond her years, had screamed for the gods since her first breath. So when the Lady of the Sky screamed as her skin was torn, and Aria had stared at the wound in horror, he had waited for her words.“We have to go to Haven.” She breathed.“I shall begin to pack.” He agreed, then reconsidered. “Or shall you pack and I shall tell our mother?”
Relationships: Lavellan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 711
Kudos: 859





	1. Prologue

Their son was born strong and silent, blinking solemnly as the midwife cleaned him and passed him to the auger to be blessed. They named him Lugh, a good, strong name for a strong child.

Their daughter was born not a handbreadth of time later, squalling like a tempest and so small that they feared her form was not complete and would have thought she was born before her time if it were not for her twin brother. They named her Aria, though they feared Aria would not last the winter; she was so small, screaming as if the very air pained her. 

The auger passed the screaming child into her arms. “She has an old soul, touched by the sky.”

‘An old soul’ reborn, The Lady and seen fit to return one. She did not stop screaming until her cries came hoarse and like a breath. While their son latched easily and eagerly, the girl refused and could only be coaxed with warm goat's milk after several hours of trying and failing to feed her. 

  
  
  
  


Svarah was exhausted. Aria survived the winter, but only through great effort. The child refused to nurse, having to instead be fed through a nurse’s bottle, and when she did not sleep the slumber of the truly exhausted, she screamed. Her lungs were not weak. 

Though they were twins, the children were as different as summer and winter. Lugh had dark brown hair and honey gold eyes, strong and stocky as his father, and quiet and solemn as a sunrise. Aria was skinny and small, mostly bald with the smallest bit of fine red hair, and green eyes, and as loud and angry as her brother was quiet.

Right now the children lay in their crib, facing another. Lugh staring silently and solemnly at Aria, and Aria fidgeting and squirming as was her way. The child was ever restless. Many had thought her a weakling, that something ailed her, but she was not weak. Far from it as she had begun to roll over long before the time expected, and had begun a curious worming sort of crawl. 

Screaming, the entire time, as was her way.

To say she was peculiar was far too lax a description .

  
  


Aria’s face scrunched up and Svarah held her breath, waiting for the ear splitting wail, but instead she grunted and squirmed and sat up, and then faced her brother with a peculiar scowl for one so young. She let out a babble and waved her arms and Lugh blinked at her before beginning to squirm. 

By the time her current husband returned from the hunt, Aria had coaxed Lugh into sitting up through sheer determination, and Svarah had spent a blessed four hours without a single screech. 

A peace that was shattered when he picked up Aria to greet her, and the child began to scream, arching her back and squirming until he set her down with an exasperated grunt. The child continued to scream, flailing her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Svarah sighed wearily. “Go bathe the hunt’s blood from you. I will tend to her.”

Aria fell silent with a suddenness that made Svarah start for her in concern, but the child had her face scrunched up, her mouth moving. “Ba-ba-bah.” Aria suddenly smiled, the first smile Svarah had ever seen her daughter make. “Bah!” She waved her arms. “Bah!”

Lugh toppled over but Aria bounced in place. “Bah!”

“What is she saying?”

“I don’t know, but she smiled!” 

“Bah! Bah!”

Her husband huffed and leaned to press a cautious kiss to Aria’s head. “I will go bathe.”

“Bah!” Aria grabbed his beard, a shockingly earnest expression on her face. “Bah!”

Svarah frowned. “Bath?”

Aria looked at her, her liquid green eyes wide and pleading. “Bah!” She released her father’s beard and started thumping on her scrawny chest. “Bah!”

“Well… if it will keep her from squalling…” Her husband said doubtfully before gently reaching out to pick her up, bracing himself for the inevitable wailing. Instead she flapped her arms with a triumphant grin.

“BAH!” They both blinked in surprise at her sudden enthusiastic babblings of ‘Bah! Bah! Bah!.’

She was only four moons. 

  
  
  


Svarah found the quickest way to calm her strange child was to dump her into a warm tub of water. Aria wanted to bathe after every soiled cloth, after every meal, after every time the hold beast licked her face. Because the hold beast, Storvackor loved her, this was often. 

Svarah was half surprised that her daughter did not grow fins and begin to live in the water, so often did she wish to bathe. It was an exhausting ritual, but there was peace. 

Aria coaxed her brother into sitting, and then into crawling, and then, Aria set her mind to new adventures and began trying to walk. Oddly, her daughter did not cry over skinned knees and bruised heads as even silent, solemn Lugh did. A smear of mud would send Aria into enraged cries, but a bloody lip was simply washed off and ignored. 

Svarah was amused by the number of times she found Aria studiously washing Lugh’s hands and face in the tub of water they had begun to leave on their cave’s floor for her. 

Aria’s first word was ‘bath’. 

Lugh’s first word was ‘wash’. Mostly due to his sister’s insistence. 

  
  
  


Aria did not wish to be called Aria. 

“Aria-” Svarah tried to reason with her. It was odd to be reasoning with a child not yet three winters, but Aria was much, much smarter than the average babe.

“No! I’m treeddah!” Aria stomped her tiny foot, then scrunched her face up as she did when she couldn’t make her mouth say a word correctly. “Teerdah. Teerdah.Treerdha. Tarda, teeryda.”

Lugh sat quietly with solemn eyes, watching on with interest and careful not to touch any of the various bones in the auger’s hut, mostly due to the fear of another ‘scrubbing’.

The auger, who Svarah had consulted on this matter, suddenly leaned forward. “Tyrdda?”

The tiny child sighed wearily and shrugged then gasped and ran over to Lugh who had picked up a curing Fennec fur. “Lugh, no! Drop.”

Svarah exchanged wondering glances with the auger. Tyrdda? Reborn?

“What if we called you something else? If Aria is not to your liking?” Svarah hesitantly offered. Calling her small, odd child Tyrdda would bring more attention onto her. Already the other children bullied her for her small size, though Lugh would defend her best he could. Saddling her with a great name…

“Sky.” Lugh said as he allowed Aria to pour some of the water she carried in the tiny skin on her waist over his hands to scrub them with her ‘highgene kiht’.

Aria frowned at him. “Sky?”

He pointed at her head. “Sky.”

Aria narrowed her eyes at her sibling and murmured something in that babbling way of hers, their twin speak. “Smahrt Ahss.”

Lugh answered in kind with a smile, and Aria huffed before shrugging. “Sky is alright.” 

Thus she was named, her legend name, though strange, fit. “Aria Sky Touched.” The Auger pronounced. Aria scrunched her nose but relented. 

  
  
  
  


Aria was a strange child, and that strangeness grew with her. She insisted on an odd standard of cleanliness, that her food be cooked longer, that her water be boiled. On her tenth summer, when one of the warriors tried to get her to drink water that had not been boiled, Aria set his beard on fire. 

Lugh just as quickly put it out with a blast of ice. 

Both of her children had magic. It now made sense why the hold beast favored them. 

They were trained as all the hold children and given no special treatment, after lessons with the augur how to commun safely with the gods, they would be trained as warriors. 

Svarah would never forget the look of horror on Aria’s face when the hunt master gave her her first blade and instructed her to gut and dress a nug. The girl looked at the blade then back at him in disbelief. “You give children blades?”

The Huntmaster frowned but nodded as he handed Lugh his own as well. “Aye.”

Aria gasped and snatched the blade from her brother’s hand. “He’s five!” 

“So are you.” Her father said with amusement. 

“That’s debabatable.” She paused and frowned. “De-bate-ah-ble. Ah fuck it, fine, give the small children sharp objects.” 

Lugh frowned at his little sister. “Language.” 

  
  
  
  


“Sky, Come down!” Her Father tried once more with no success to coax her from the cliff she had climbed. 

“No!” The child crossed her arms defiantly. “I will not smear questionable substances on myself to ‘fit in’.”

Svarah could see that their father was losing his patiences. “Sky, it is your test. It is tradition.”

“Tradition can go suck an egg!” Aria shot back.

Their father growled and looked at her for help, but Svarah shook her head and laughed. “It was your idea to force her, you deal with it.”

He gave her a withering glare before turning back to their child, completely ignoring the crowd gathering, they were all used to it by now. “Listen, you little she-“

Lugh tugged on his father’s arm, cutting off whatever ‘brilliant’ thing he was about to say, and murmured something, then held a jar out from his body and spoke loudly. “I would wager I could figure out what is in it for you, Sky!” He looked up at his sister and stuck his finger into the jar.

Aria narrowed her eyes. “Lugh! Don’t you dare!”

“Best way to figure out what it is.” He grinned and slowly started bringing his finger towards his mouth. 

“No! Do not put that in your mouth!” Aria’s expression was one of absolute horror.

Lugh raised his eyebrows and brought it closer to his mouth.

“Fine!” Aria shouted and started clambering down from her perch. “Fine! I’ll let you… put it on my arms if you promise not to eat it!”

Svarah was very grateful that the gods had seen fit to bless them with Lugh on the same day as Aria. 

  
  
  


“It’s important!” Aria’s strident voice cracked through the still morning air and Svarah sighed.

“No it is not! I have no need of numbers!” It was one of the hold’s children.

“Yes, you do! How will you know if the traders cheat you? Or how many moons have passed? You need numbers! They’re the fabric of the yoonihvers!”

Svarah stepped out of her cave and crossed her arms at the scene she found. Lugh was sitting patiently with a burnt stick and flat stone, and the hold’s children were all gathered with various expressions of willingness. Aria was faced off with one of the boys, a lad at least three summers older than her, Helsdim Rolfsen, she believed he was.

“You need an education!” Aria stomped her foot.

“I don’t want one!” The boy shot back. His arm twitched back like he would strike at her, and Svarah prayed he had the sense not to. 

Aria’s eyes narrowed and the boy hesitated, then backed up a step. “You can play with your symbols, I am going to train with the huntmaster.” He wheeled and stormed off and Svarah was… shocked to see Aria actually looked… crestfallen.

Lugh stood and went to his sister’s side. “Aye, he will learn. For now, teach the willing.” He paused. “And the easily cowed.” 

Svarah watched as both her children taught the others how to understand the Lowlander’s numbers with the patience of an elder. Eight summers, going on eighty.

  
  


Svarah frowned at the odd collection of pots and a shield arranged over a fire. Aria was tending it with her expression of concentration, and Lugh was watching in fascination, taking ‘notes’ in the twin speak symbols Aria had taught him. 

“What… are you doing?”

“Shush.” Aria said, and sent a small, controlled curl of flame into the fire. Though she had born them both, Aria seemed to have to work hard to remember that she was her mother. 

“Sye-ehns.” Lugh whispered in their twin speak. “Dihstihlayshun.”

Aria sighed, and leaned back. “Advanced potion making.”

“You are twelve summers.” Svarah said. She wasn’t sure why she said that, but it felt like she needed to remind her daughter of her age.

“Debatable.” Aria replied and dropped to her belly to check the level of fluid dripping from the shield into a small bowl. “I think it’s working.”

“Can we drink it?” Lugh asked curiously.

“If you want to go blind.” Aria muttered. “It’s for your hands. I don’t know how to separate the shine from the moon.”

“For your hands?” Svarah asked, questioning why The Lady could not have ‘blessed’ another hold.

“For when we don’t have soap and water.” Aria murmured. “Not as effective, but it kills most of the jirms in a pinch. Good for cleaning wounds too, though it will burn like a bitch.”

“Language.” Lugh said calmly as he continued note taking.

“It is a cleansing potion?”

Aria looked at her and shrugged. “Sure.”

Svarah decided to let the children do… whatever they were doing. At least they weren’t causing trouble. 

She amended that opinion later when she found Aria screaming up at a hunter. Word had spread that the cleansing potion prevented infections, and the warriors and hunters had started taking the vials she had stockpiled. 

Now her tiny, strange, Sky Touched daughter, was screaming epithets and curse words at a man twice her age and four times her size.

Lugh put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, a full head and a half taller than her, and spoke in his quiet, steady way. “She does not begrudge you for wanting to keep yourself cleansed and safe, but if you are to take her potions, at least give her the things she needs to make more.” 

Aria paused and blinked, then put her hands on her tiny, scrawny hips and nodded. “Yeah! Pay me!” 

And that was the beginning of her daughter of thirteen winters somehow supplanting the hold healer and having most of the hunters indebted to her in some way. The tiny, weakling they had bullied before. 

  
  
  
  


Svarah put her fingertips to her mouth to try and hide her expression. The young warrior fidgeted before her.

“You… want to take my daughter?” She asked again, just to be certain.

The warrior nodded eagerly. “I do, with your leave, Thane.”

She gave into the impulse to rub her temples. “Have you…  _ met _ her?” 

“No, but she is a most skilled healer, quick of mind and strong of magic.”

And, because the gods liked to laugh, Aria took that moment to cross through the cave. Her daughter paused and looked at the warrior curiously. “Ooh, is there going to be a wedding?”

The warrior looked slightly panicked and Svarah decided he needed to know what he was asking to get himself into. “He wishes to wed you.”

Aria’s expression flattened and went cold, her green eyes sharp and hard. “Ah.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly. “You know I can create a potion that will melt a man’s skin off? Make your pride wither and fall off.”

Lugh, her ever present shadow, nodded. “We found it most useful for gelding the horses.” 

To say the warrior beat a hasty retreat at that would be an understatement. Svarah sighed. “You know you will have to wed someday.”

Aria raised an eyebrow, far, far too collected and sure of herself for a girl of sixteen summers. “Do I though?” 

  
  
  


Jaws of Hakkon. The clan was trouble, but as Thane she had the obligation to welcome them peaceably as they had lost their hold due to the blight ravaging the lowlander’s lands. Their Thane was a brute and their warriors crude in ways Stone Bear Hold had not been since Aria’s meddling. 

One of their warriors made the mistake of trying to bar Aria from the council fire… Lugh had thrown him through the entryway and Aria walked in with a glare set into her features. “I had it.”

Truly, if the lass ever smiled she could probably have her pick of the holds. As it was, the warriors of the nearby holds were rightfully terrified of her. 

“Without permanent harm, sister.” Lugh huffed, clearly amused. “I was being merciful.”

“What is the meaning of this, Thane Sun Hair?” Thane Gurd Harofsen said, standing with his hand on his weapon. Ever ready for bloodshed these Hakkonites seemed to be. 

“The meaning is, I have a right to be here, and your great and glorious warrior was just tossed on his ass by a boy of seventeen summers.” Aria shrugged and took her customary seat. “Might want to train him better.” 

“Language, sister.” Lugh held out his hand and Aria sighed and dug into her pockets for the little beads the two traded with each other and dropped it into his palm.

“My children.” Svarah waved her hand at the two as if nothing was amiss, it was best to deal with their antics in this way. As if nothing they did could surprise her. 

“Aria Sky-Touched.” Lugh gestured to his sister. “And I am Lugh Svarahson.” As tradition, Lugh took her name as she was the one with the legend mark and became Thane. He would remain so until he earned his own .

Harofsen narrowed his eyes at Aria, who fearlessly raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not accustomed to the setting of terms being made in the presence of children. What are you, girl? Twelve summers?”

“You’re obviously not accustomed to bathing either,  _ man _ , but here we are.” Aria smiled her deceptively sweet smile. “And my age is a matter of some debate.” 

It was only through years of practice that Svarah was able to resist the urge to rub her temples. This was going to be a long meeting.

  
  
  


  
  


Aria took a fascination with the goings on in the Lowlanders lands, plying the traders for information and rumors. Consulting the gods for insight while she dreamed as she never had before. 

She foresaw the conflicts of the Lowlanders before they came to pass with an accuracy that made Svarah’s blood run cold. 

The Auger wanted to pass her the mantle but she had flatly refused, Saying she had a purpose that was coming, some great wrong to fix and she needed to be free of responsibility to be able to go help. She would not replace the healer, would not wed, would not become the next auger, would not strive to become thane.

Lugh also did not wed, or take up any of the positions of authority in the Hold despite his skill with an ax as both a warrior, a healer, a hunter, or a mage, saying he would be following her, as was his way. He did not have foresight as she did, but he said that his future lay outside of the Hold. 

He was the only one who could cool her daughter’s fiery temper. He earned his Legend mark through this, calming her when a prospective husband had tried for too much and her temper exploded into a raging fire that threatened the forest. He faced her through the flames and talked in their twin tongue until she called the flames back into her spirit. 

The Patient. Lugh the Patient.

Both of her children had their legend marks before their twentieth summer.

  
  
  
  


Yet another warrior was found hogtied and dangling from the climbing wall. Aria sat with her back leaned against the wall with a very self satisfied smile. “When will the Hakkonites learn I am not available?”

Svarah opened her mouth to reply, but there was a horrible sense of wrongness that ripped through the air, and the Auger began to scream as a strange green light flared. Svarah blinked the light away and searched for trouble. All were staring at the sky, and when she looked up, she felt her knees threaten to give. Sweet Lady of the Sky… She was wounded.

Aria let out a stricken cry and pushed away from the wall, gripping her arm tightly. “Don’t go near the tears, they are green and glow, and if anyone draws near them, the gods will be pulled through and corrupted.” She whispered. “Don’t let anyone near the tears.”

Her green eyes were wide with terror and fixed on the horrible wound in the sky, but there was also a sense of calmness about her, as if she had expected this. “We have to go.”

Svarah nodded her understanding and Aria took off with a cry for her brother. 


	2. Chapter 2

Lugh had always known his sister was sky touched. She had knowledge beyond her years, had screamed for the gods since her first breath. So when the Lady of the Sky screamed as her skin was torn, and Aria ran to him her eyes wide with horror and that otherworldly knowing, he had waited for her words.

“We must go to Haven.” She breathed. 

“I shall begin to pack.” He agreed, then reconsidered. “Or shall you pack and I tell our mother?” 

“She knows.” She covered her face with her hands and breathed measured draws of air. “ _ Shit, this is bad. _ ” She murmured in their twin speak.

“Very well.” He nodded and went to go gather their things and try to ignore the compulsion to stare into the wound of the sky. Aria had warned him of this, speaking only in their twins’ tongue of it, so he was not stunned into inaction as many, but he… he still feared. Aria was certain they could help the marked one who could heal the sky and defeat her attacker, but… it was a great and terrible power that could do this, that would do this. 

His hands did not shake as he packed their things, their weapons and provisions, the equipment she used to make her potions. It was simple to pack, Aria had insisted they go through their things each month since the end of the Blight in order to take note of what they would bring or leave when the time came. The books would be left, but their ‘grimoires’, neither of them could chance it falling into the hands of others even coded in their twin tongue. Secrets long meant to be buried, knowledge of things past and future, of her science and experiments… No, these they could not leave. Their grimoires, a word that always made her laugh and say she was a witch in training, would come with them, safely locked in a trunk. Their staves would be left, a ‘kill me banner’ she had said, but their blades would come with them. 

He packed methodically and counted his breaths as Aria had taught him to calm his blood. 

The healer’s kits would come, but their collections of artifacts would be left. Their mother came into their space as he was packing the last of their things, and she looked at him with a stoic, but sad expression. 

“The Lady bleeds.” She said looking at him as if it was the last time she would see him. He had always had a closer connection with their mother than Aria, though it was not his sister’s fault. 

“Sky is a skilled healer.” He said simply, an offer of as much comfort as he could give. If anyone could fix this… it was his sky touched, reborn sister. 

“And you?”

“I will do as I have since birth, and clear the path for her.” It felt as if he had been preparing for this his entire life.

His mother rolled her eyes at the old joke, but fell pensive again quickly as Aria rushed in. “I’ve readied the horses.” 

  
  
  
  
  


“Don’t forget to cleanse your hands before you eat.” Aria said anxiously. “And boil your water before you drink it.”

“We know, Sky.” Their mother sighed affectionately. 

“And bathe the children for the sake of the gods.” Aria pleaded as she tightened ‘Charlie’s’ girth. The oath bound the augur had gifted her stood completely still as she fussed with her saddle ensuring everything was in its place. Lugh had a little more difficulty with his mount, a spirited stallion that wanted to dance in place, but was the only mount large enough to bear him for more than a short ride. Most of the horses in the hold were used as pack animals rather than mounts.

“We know, Sky. You taught us all.” 

“And-” 

“Don’t use our weapons for cooking and keep wounds clean and don’t use leeches or bleeding, we know.” Their mother hesitated before drawing Aria into a hug. “We will be well.” 

Aria froze for a second at the embrace but returned it gingerly. “Just… stay safe. Away from the wounds.”

The whole clan saw them off at the pass. It was a strange thing to leave with the knowledge you would not be returning for the foreseeable future. Lugh had to keep count of his breath to keep from crying. He was not adventurous, did not go seeking his Legend Mark as others before him had, he did not like to leave the hold. But it was necessary. 

Aria gave him a sympathetic smile as they rode. “We’ll come back and who knows, maybe you’ll find a wife.”

He laughed, a short laugh, but still honest amusement. A wife, while among the lowlanders and the Lady bled above them? “She would have to be gilt in gold to draw my eyes from the sky, Sister.” 

She laughed. “Ah, you say that, but I wager eventually you’ll have giant children running around and setting things on fire sooner or later.” It was good to banter, taking his mind off of The Lady’s wound. 

They rode hard for three days, stopping only to eat and rest their mounts, Aria becoming more and more agitated with each day. Muttering that ‘It should have stabilized.’ It was evening of the third day when the Lady’s wound stopped bleeding and Aria collapsed against ‘Charlie’s’ neck and breathed out a relieved, “Oh, thank the gods. It wasn’t me.”

  
  
  
  


Leliana’s scouts had reported that a pair of Avvar were riding directly towards Haven. Cullen had opted to meet them at the gates with a party of soldiers, every nerve on edge. No one knew why they were here, Haven was safely outside of their territories. The Avvar were savage brutes and their appearance was worrisome with the Inquisition being barely formed and the breach was only stabilized a few days. The pair rode into view and Cullen balked at the sight of the smaller rider’s horse… which had a sword… through its head.

Both riders dismounted and walked closer at an unhurried pace. As they drew nearer, Cullen could see the taller one was a man, a brown haired warrior with an ax hanging from his belt, while the smaller was a red haired woman with a bow across her back. Both dressed in pelt furs as was the fashion of the Avvar, but without the paint and chalk markings.

Both of them wrinkled their noses as they approached, the man asking something in a disgusted tone of voice and the woman seemingly agreeing in the same tone. The woman blinked at him as she approached, her green eyes roaming from his head to his toe brazenly before she spoke in heavily accented Common. “By the gods, you are prettier than I dreamed.” 

The man nodded in earnest agreement, then startled and glanced from the woman and back to him in confused surprise. Cullen could feel himself blush, but he frowned and crossed his arms. “What is your business here? We have not bothered your lands.”

The woman blinked and then frowned back before folding her own arms in front of her chest. The man spoke in a clipping sort of language to the woman, before she could speak and she looked at him and replied in kind. The man nodded and directed his words at him, also in accented Common. “I am Lugh the Patient, this is my sister Aria Sky Touched. We are from Hold Stone-Bear from the south.”

“We come seeking the one who can heal the Lady’s wounds, Commander.” The woman said, lifting her chin in challenge. The man, ‘Lugh’, startled again and looked at her oddly before shrugging and subsiding, apparently allowing her to lead. 

They came seeking the Herald? Avvar barbarians? The recruits behind him started murmuring and shifting uneasily. 

The woman sighed and rolled her hand in an impatient gesture. “I assume you know of who we speak, Low- uh Commander? Commander Godendwlid.”

Her brother snickered, then smoothed his expression into placid calmness.

He started to answer when the gates were opened and a red faced Chancellor Roderick stormed through. “Commander Rutherford, what is the meaning of this? Are we admitting savage heretics now?”

“Gods, and you are exactly like a bleating goat.” The woman groaned and said something in the clipping language and the man sighed and set a heavy hand on her shoulder. Almost as if he was preparing to hold her back. 

“You know the one who can heal the Lady. We would offer aid.” Lugh said, and then at an indignant noise from Aria, added. “To you, not him.” He indicated the Chancellor with a jerk of his chin. 

“This is-“ the Chancellor started with balled fists, but the woman rolled her eyes and walked past the blustering cleric and held her bow out to him. 

At a sharp word in her clipping language, her brother offered his ax handle first. “Lay hold on me then.” She said, looking him directly in the eye. It was incredibly unsettling, as her gaze, nearly the same shade of green as the breach above, was intense and unblinking. “The Lady of the Sky’s Wound threatens us all, you need our aid as much as we need yours.”

As loathe as he was to admit it, she was right. They needed every blade they could get. And he was also, secretly, glad of the chance to infuriate the Chancellor further. “I see no need for that. If you are here to help, we will not turn you away.” 

“It pleases me to hear it, Godendwlid.” She smiled brightly and put her bow back across her back. Her brother snorted in amusement again.

“It is Commander Cullen.”

“Aye.” She said, but didn’t correct herself. ”But Godendwlid fits as well.”

“Aye.” Lugh nodded solemnly. 

“What’s going on here?” The sound of the Herald’s voice had Cullen straightening his spine out of reflex. “I could hear the commotion from the tavern.”

The Avvar man’s eyes widened in shock as he peered down at the Herald, who was an elf woman who seemed even tinier next to the huge warrior than she normally did. “By the gods… you are… small.” He looked at his sister and spoke in a horrified tone of voice in their language. 

Aria winced and patted his arm. “That’s why we’re here to help, brother dear. I am Sky, this is my brother Lugh. We would like to help you heal the Lady.” 

“Creators… you’re tall, even for a shemlen.” The Herald breathed, her eyes wide and fixed on Lugh’s face. 

“Commander? Your Worship? Is there some problem?” Cassandra asked as she hurried through the opening in the gate, clearly having sprinted here. He needed to get them inside before the entire council ended up meeting in the open. 

Aria blinked and then sidled up to the Seeker and seemed to measure them before breaking into a grin at the discovery they were of the same height. “I’m not small down here!” 

Maker help them all. 

  
  
  


Lavellan wasn’t sure what to make of the newcomers. She was willing to accept their help, creators knew she could use all the help she could get, but the Avvar were… she was reluctant to use the same word bent against her people so often, but the Avvar were savages. The man was huge yet still walked with hunter’s silence. They both were dressed in furs and carried massive weapons and spoke in strange languages, but they… were polite? Lavellan would say they were polite, the big one’s comment about her size aside. She didn’t think he had ever seen an elf before. But then again this was the first time she had seen an Avvar up close as well.

Cullen eventually managed to get them inside of Haven. The recruits were reluctant to handle Aria’s… horse, who very stubbornly stood completely still as the recruit tried to lead it away, but Aria laughed and said something in what sounded like gibberish to the horse... thing and it huffed out a heavy breath and trotted to the paddock unassisted. 

Aria and Lugh themselves were willing to go where directed, though Aria’s eyes danced excitedly over her surrounding. Her brother seemed more steady, sometimes reaching out to guide his sister back onto the path Cullen was directing them down. Lugh seemed… out of place, glancing at passing people with a confused furrow between his brows and glancing down at her in what seemed to be earnest concern. 

Lavellan forced a smile onto her face, Josephine’s warnings about appearances ringing in her head, despite an instinctive sort of wariness the massive man produced in her. He frowned and then asked slowly. “Are all of your people so... small?”

“Lugh, that’s rude.” Aria hissed, slapping his arm, then gave her an apologetic smile. “He has not left the mountains before.” 

“And you have?” The question sounded sarcastic. 

“I was trying to avoid saying, ‘forgive my brother, he is an idiot’.” The Avvar woman scratched back. 

Lavellan felt her smile grow a little more honest at their banter. It felt… similar to the conversations of her clan. The two were still teasing another when they walked, or in Lugh’s case: ducked, into Josephine’s office, so it was startlingly obvious when the massive Avvar… froze. He halted midstep, his mouth open, and his eyes fixed on Josephine. 

The Ambassador gaped back at him for a long moment before blinking and schooling her expression. “Um. Hello.” 

Aria grinned at her brother and reached up to shut his mouth. “‘Gilt in gold’, brother?” 

Lavellan was not prepared for the sight of the Avvar giant abruptly flushing bright red and ducking his head bashfully. It was… dare she say it, cute. 

Josephine recovered far more swiftly than any of them did and gave a bright, winning smile that only seemed to make the giant’s flush deepen. “Welcome to Haven. You are Avvar, correct?”

There was a beat of silence and then Aria rolled her eyes. “Aye, we hail from Stone-Bear hold in the Frostback Basin. We journeyed here when the Lady was wounded to offer our aid.” 

Josephine blinked at her in confusion. “I’m sorry…the Lady… who?”

“The Lady of the Sky. She bleeds and her wounds threaten us all.” Aria’s smile seemed a little sharp to Lavellan and when Josephine still looked confused she sighed. “Your kind calls it a Breach?”

At that Josephine’s smile turned brighter and she immediately picked up her ever-present clipboard “Oh, this is wonderful news! What kind of help can… you give us?” 

“We are skilled healers and warriors, hunters and potion makers.” Aria shrugged. “And despite his  _ luhvstruhk _ silence at the moment, Lugh here is rather skilled at soothing ruffled feathers between bickering warriors.” 

Josephine turned to the giant with a pleasant if slightly doubtful smile. “Oh? Are you the ambassador for your people, then?”

Lugh’s eyes widened but he stayed completely still and silent until Aria prodded him with her elbow. He cleared his throat. “Nay, I am…” He looked at a loss for words before continuing. “Her brother?” 

“Tis a good thing your hands are better trained than your words.” Aria scoffed. “A shiny thing and all three languages fail you.” 

The giant flushed and made a gesture that looked like it was probably very rude. 

Josephine’s smile faltered slightly. “I… see. Well, I’m sure Commander Cullen might make use of your… expertise?” She leaned to look around the giant to Cullen who stood in the doorway. “Can you?” 

“Well, he obviously knows which end of a weapon to hold.” Cullen sighed.

“Hold your words!” The woman looked back between Cullen and Josephine with annoyance. “My brother will not be fodder for your enemy’s arrows.”

Lugh seemed to be shaken from his trance by his sister’s sharp tone. “Peace, Sky.” He said softly. 

Aria looked at him and her frown deepened but she nodded before speaking again. “We came here to offer our services… to the one who can heal the Lady of the Sky. The Breach. Your... herald.”

Lavellan forced herself not to flinch back when all eyes focused on her. She hated the creators damned title, it was… too shemlan. She looked at the woman, who was watching her intently, and she immediately felt like a da’lin being tested. “What sort of job do you want?” That sounded reasonable. 

“Healing.” Was his immediate reply. He hesitated before adding. “Though I am a fair warrior, I take no enjoyment of ripping enemies apart. Let me tend your wounded, put back together what the world tears apart.”

Lavellan wanted to just say yes, to just get it over with and get out of here, but… the woman was still watching her and Josephine and Cullen were both looking… doubtful. A test? A test might be wise? Keeper would have put out a test… “Commander? Do we have any wounded he could tend? To show us his skill?” 

The Avvar woman looked approving.

  
  
  


They had many wounded… Lugh had never seen so many wounded cramped together in one small tent, not even when a ‘cotton lung cough’ spread through the hold had there been so many. The healing tent was… it was not a place for proper healing. The earthen floor was soaked in blood and waste, flies making a feast of it. The air nearly gagged him, it stank of blood sickness and wound rot. And the Lowlanders called their kind barbarians. Their clan would never subject their ill or wounded to this treatment. He could see his sisters' immediate distress upon walking into the tent as she covered her mouth and nose with her neck wrap. He did the same to protect themselves from the foul air.

He had thought the lowlander hold had smelled like… well, like rotting shit as they had approached, but it was a thousand times worse in the confines of the tent. It was hard not to gag on the stench. But… there were people who needed help. 

He could feel Lavellan’s eyes on him as he passed by a man screaming over a broken arm and stopped by a woman who was laying flat on her back silently, her breaths shallow and her eyes half closed. He knelt by her and began examining her and what he found turned his stomach. She had not yet been tended.

He looked for a bowl to wash his hands but could find none readily in sight, so he uncorked the flask of cleansing potion and cleansed his hands before continuing his examination. 

“Ribs broken. Lungs punctured.” He grimaced. He hated this type of injury, there was no medicine for it, only magic. He put his hands on the woman’s chest and closed his eyes, reaching through to plead for the gods for aid. One lent him its attention, and he drew from it and let it guide his magic to put the woman’s ribs back in place and heal them. 

He thanked the god and moved from the woman to the man he had passed over. He cleansed his hands again and set the arm and put it in a splint, channelling just enough magic to make it set. “I could heal it completely, but then I would not have enough to tend others.” He apologized. “Keep it in the splint for a week to let it finish healing.” he glanced around the disgusting tent. “And move to a cleaner place.” 

And then he moved to another with a deep, gaping gash on his leg. It had not been cleaned. He exhaled sharply and faced Lavellan. “I need water, boiling water, and lots of it, and any soap you have to spare. I… may be here for some time.”

“You’re a mage.” The commander said sharply.

“Aye.” Lugh thought it should be obvious as he had just used magic twice, but Lowlanders seemed to be odd. “And this man needs his wound cleaned and dressed ere it take sick.” 

“You need to move your wounded.” Aria spoke suddenly; he was actually surprised she had stayed quiet as long as she had. 

“Excuse-?” The commander started but was cut off immediately as Aria continued, pretending not to even hear him.

“The air is not fit for their lungs, the ground is soaked in old blood and waste, it carries illness in it that can kill as sure as any swift blade.” She shook her head and stepped out of the tent with a passionate: “Beasts are subjected to better treatment.” Leaving a chastised and red faced commander to sputter in her wake.

Lugh looked around and found a man standing among the wounded and staring at him with wide eyes. “You. I need pots for water.”

The man hesitated before taking off at a run and Lugh turned his attention back to the wounded. Any who could walk he had leave the filthy area, and those that could not, he tended first so that they could. The man did return with pots and by that time Lugh could feel Aria working her magic outside the tent, tending to the walking wounded. He filled the pots with his ice, and then she ducked in to melt and boil the water with her fire, and he washed his arms to the shoulder and bade the man to throw all of the bandages into the boiling water. He did not trust them to be cleaned.

After that, it was a steady trudge of washing and stitches and bandages and magic. Aria’s strident voice echoed through the canvas and the moment he gave leave, warriors would gather up the wounded and carry them out of the filthy tent. Lugh would wash his hands, and go to the next. 

He was feeling exhausted. He had never used so much magic for so long a time. At some point during his slow and steady whittling through the tent, he sensed another mage begin to work alongside him. He glanced over to find a shorn elf mage casting a spell over a soldier and snapped: “Wash your hands ere you carry disease from one to the next.”

The elf blinked at him, but complied, and then the two of them worked in silence, only speaking to request help for a particularly bad wound, or to have the warriors carry off one who had died ere they reached them. 

Lugh was exhausted, and felt sick to his stomach, but the reward was seeing the tent emptied, many warriors walking under their own power, and those that could not were breathing fresh clean air outside of the tent. 

When the last was removed from the tent, Lugh drew every pot and tool out of the place, then glanced at Aria. “We should burn it. Blood and disease are soaked into the ground and beds.” 

“Aye,” she nodded and flicked her wrist, the tents’ edge immediately catching blaze. 

“What do you think you are doing?!” The Commander, though nice to look at, seemed to be making himself as an irate youth to Aria. 

“Saving your kind from your own stupidity.” Aria spoke dismissively and focused on the many healing tools she was currently boiling and cleansing.

“Saving your people from wasting to disease and sickened wounds.” Lugh snapped. He was exhausted in body and spirit and the horror of the day clung to him like barbs. He had a sudden, horrifying thought. “Sister… if they keep their wounded so, what about their waste?”

The shorn mage who had helped him gave him a sharp glance. “They have a privy trench dug outside the walls.”

“Gods have mercy, are you  _ trying _ to kill your people?” Aria shouted, slamming a saw looking object into one of the pots and leaning against the table to take a measured draw of air before continuing more calmly. “You have mages, have them scour the trenches with fire at the very least!”

“Every night.” Lugh added. “Filth breeds disease.” He was feeling a bit dizzy, completely drained. “Aye, I see why we had to come. To keep you lot from wasting away ere the Lady is healed.” 

The shorn mage handed him a vial of lyrium and Lugh took it, shocked at the valuable offer. The hold’s lyrium was kept carefully locked away in the Auger’s hut for their apprentices. The last time he had held lyrium was for the ritual to release his teacher. “I thank you, but my body is my own.”

At the mage’s shocked expression Aria laughed and shook her head. “It’s meant to replenish your well, brother.” She waved her hand at the mage. “Ma serannas, falon, but we do not partake unless the need is dire.”

Lugh offered the vial back to the mage, who took it with an odd expression. “I need rest more than the blood of the mountains.” 

There was a sudden intense silence around them before the herald spoke. She had a large voice for one so small. “They can stay.”

  
  
  
  


Varric had a nose for a good story and his nose told him that a good story had just walked into Haven. There was the undead horse, and the Avvar savages, and then the woman was yelling at Curly and the giant of a man was… washing his hands. Over and over and over again. He would heal a wounded soldier, and wash his hands before moving to the next. Over and over and over. 

It was pretty damn impressive to watch the pair work. They were obviously pretty powerful mages. He… felt a little uneasy at the way their eyes would light up as they healed. He recognized that, and while the Inquisition could use a pair of spirit healers, that could also bring trouble if there were… passengers. 

The woman had somehow cowed Curly into getting another tent set up after incinerating the other one that they had been using, it had been hilarious as well as unsettling. But Varric was not about to argue with results, the tent had been packed and now they had half as many wounded who truly needed to be there, others they had healed going to their assigned tents with the army to rest.

At some point Chuckles joined them in their efforts and did not question anything they told him to do no matter how absurd it sounded… like washing his hands every few minutes.

The giant of a man seemed exhausted by the end of the day, but he was still standing and barking sharp orders to the surgeons and healers, terrifying them into obedience and the Herald seemed perfectly content to let the pair do as they pleased. At one point he actually lifted one of the surgeons by the collar and Varric was close enough to hear him snarl: “if I find you have been spreading disease by refusing to wash your tools and hands between each patient, I  _ will _ throw you into the privy trench to live with the filth.”

The Avvar dropped the surgeon, who babbled out an agreement before dashing away, and then he turned and fixed him with a tired look. “Are you needing healing?” He laughed and shook his head and the giant blinked at him for a moment before muttering. “Gods, you are all so small.”

He started for the tent, only for the woman to say something in a sharp tone and a language Varric had never heard before. The giant scowled and replied in kind, but then held up his hands in surrender before sighing and looking around with a very confused expression. He seemed surprised to see Varric still standing there.

“Aye, do you know where I am supposed to find a meal?” 

This he could work with. “The Singing Maiden should have a stew ready. I’ll see you there.”

“Who is the singing maiden?” the Avvar said in seeming earnest perplexion, glancing around as if looking for someone. 

The woman chuckled as she walked over, pouring something from a flask in her hands before offering it to the giant, who held his hands out and allowed her to pour it over them. 

“It’s what they call the building they meet to eat and drink. They name quite a few of their buildings in such a manner.” She glanced around and then pointed to the tavern. “That one. They’ll expect coin for the food.” She held out a pouch to him but narrowed her eyes at him before dropping it into his hands. “The copper ones, not the gold ones.” 

To Varric’s surprise the man nodded as if taking her words as honest advice rather than a jab.

“Copper, not gold.” The man hefted the pouch and shook his head. “Lowlanders are odd.” 

“Aye.” The woman laughed then looked down at him as if to say something but she froze before emitting a squeaking sound in her throat. “Varric Tethras!”

How did an Avvar know who he was on sight? “The one and only!” He put on a charming smile and she grinned at him. 

“Oh, I would hug you if I wasn’t sure I’d be stabbed. Would you make sure he doesn’t accidentally overpay Flissa?” 

“I am capable of watching to see what is appropriate.” The giant grumbled.

“I know dear brother but this way you do not expire while waiting for another to pay.” 

“Aye, truly I am wasting away to skin and bones, sister, as are you.” The giant poked the woman’s side, making her yelp and dodge, before turning to him. “I would be grateful if you showed me the Lowlander way of getting food, Varric Tethras.” The pair reminded him of Hawke and Bethany with their teasing. 

"Yeah, no problem." Varric gestured for the giant to follow him. He was not above taking the opportunity to question the man. Chuckles silently fell into step beside them and Varric resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows at the reclusive mage, focusing instead on the bigger enigma. "This your first time off your mountain?"

"Aye. We traded with passing Lowlanders, but I had no need to leave until now." The giant stopped at the tavern door and glanced around before ducking through and again looking for something, his face creased in disgust. "Is there no wash basin?"

"Haven't you washed your hands enough for one day?" Varric laughed.

The giant fixed him with that disgusted expression. "Shall I bring the sick and blood to my food? Even the beasts know not to shit where they will eat. It's for the wise to know that the unwashed hand carries all it touches."

Varric couldn’t argue with that logic and didn’t bother to hide his amusement as the Lugh dumped more of the flask's contents into his hand and rubbed it into his skin, then held it out to him in offer. Varric let him dump the substance over his hands and then blinked at the fumes. 

“That is… alcohol.” He coughed. Very, very strong alcohol.

“Shine of the Moon Potion.” The Avvar agreed. “Do not drink it, it will make you go blind.” 

"Do you have much sickness in your hold?" Chuckles asked, tilting his head curiously… funny, it reminded him of Hawke's mabari. But the guy allowed the giant to ‘cleanse’ his hands as well, and actually sniffed his hand afterward like he was trying to figure out what it was.

The man shook his head. "Nay, the passing illnesses hardly touch us, and those that do pass quickly. Sky's rules keep us in good health."

"Sky?" Varric led the way to a table and took a seat, gesturing for them to do the same.

The man hesitated and eyed the chair doubtfully. "My sister, Aria Sky Touched. I am Lugh the Patient, her older brother by an hour and younger by a lifetime."

Interesting sentence there. The man, Lugh, sat gingerly, but the chair still groaned and then splintered under his weight. He sighed and stood, muttering in his language and ignoring the surrounding laughter. 

Chuckles pointed out a barrel sitting against the wall and Lugh carried it over and sat on it instead. "If there are to be introductions, I am Solas."

"Well met. I thank you for your help. You have tremendous control over your magic." Lugh nodded to him and glanced down at the table, grimacing at its surface. “Ay, Sky will burn this place down too, I would wager, that or drown it in cleanser.”

“Ah, it’s just a bit of beer and last month’s stew.” Varric joked. He had been in worse places than the Singing Maiden.

Lugh actually scooted back from the table a bit. “I may take my meals out doors… Somehow the dirt seems cleaner than Lowlander buildings.” His face suddenly blanched. “Do the  _ cooks _ wash?” 

Chuckles actually choked on his air even as he fought to keep his face passive. “It seems we are barbarians to him, Master Tethras.”

“And there is that lowlander word to be fit to any that do not follow their ways.” The giant man sighed, then glanced around and cast a -even if Varric didn’t know much about magic he could tell when something was impressive- very impressive fire spell that licked across the table’s surface and left a fine sift of ash that Lugh blew off easily. “Better than nothing…” 

Chuckle’s eyebrows shot up. “Impressive. I would ask where you trained… that spell is not something someone ‘stumbles upon’.” 

Lugh shrugged. “It is only difficult to control. A barrier between the surface and the filth, and then a tamed flame across the barrier. It took me some time to master. I burnt many a log figuring it out. But to answer your question, I was trained in my hold by the auger, as were we all. The spell was my idea, as far as I know.”

“As far as you know?”

“Who am I to say I am the one who thought of something first? You recognized it, so I am not the only one who thought to do such a thing.” Lugh shrugged. “I put the spell together without instruction, but I cannot say I was the first to do so.”

“A wise mindset.” Chuckles nodded with a slight smile.

Varric sighed and waved over Flissa, he was not qualified to have this conversation. 

Lugh watched intently as he ordered and then paid, and tried to offer up a third of the coins spent, but Varric waved him off. “Ah, I have it.” 

“My thanks.” Lugh said solemnly. Big guy was earnest, that was for sure.

Flissa was quick to bring out three bowls of stew and set them on the table, and Varric could see Lugh’s eyes fixed on the woman’s hands. Now that he was thinking about it, he could see dirt under her nails. Huh… He had a feeling he might be noticing dirt a lot more all of a sudden. Lugh shifted and eyed the stew, and then opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out some jerky.

“I will hunt in the morning.” He muttered. 

The door flew open and a very harried looking Curly burst in and looked around. A second later, Varric could hear the other Avvar’s voice.

“Not only will it cut down on infections, but you’ll have less sickness in the hold- fort, town thing. And it gives the refugees something to-”

Curly’s eyes landed on Lugh and he started towards him, Aria following with a paper waving in her hand and her voice still loud and insistent. Curly came to a stop in front of Lugh. “Please, Your sister-”

“I am going to do you a favor, and warn you that I have not ever had a single thread of command over my sister.” Lugh said solemnly. “Tis best to simply listen to her.” 

Aria shoved the paper directly into Curly’s face with a mulish set to her mouth. Curly sighed and took the paper. “Very well… I will… look into it.” 

He beat a hasty retreat through the door faster than he had when Ravinii propositioned him back in Kirkwall. 

“I swear, they will all die of  _ dissentayree’ _ .” Aria grumbled and reached for the stew. “Dirty ass fingered lowlanders.” She paused and narrowed her eyes at the bowl. “Do I want to know?”

Lugh shook his head and offered her a piece of jerky. “Language.” 

She let out a long, grieved sounding sigh and took the jerky. “And here I thought we would find civilization.” 

Varric thought he should probably be offended… but given the fact that the two smelled better than he did, he thought it best not to say anything.

Aria glanced around and then scowled. “We should dump this entire lot into the lake.”

Lugh hummed. “Or we can build a bathing house.”

“I personally think the latter would be more pleasant.” Chuckles said dryly.

The Avvar woman sighed and looked at Chuckles with a surprisingly commiserating expression. “How have you been dealing with all this?”

“Avoiding.” Chuckles replied with a grimace.

Huh. Come to think of it, Chuckles didn’t eat in the tavern and  _ he _ didn’t have dirt under his nails. But, Varric still had a question. “So, Sparks, how did you recognize me?”

“Chest hair.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sky.”

“It’s a nickname.” 

“So is Sky.” She said flatly. “It took me two decades to get used to this one, let’s not confuse the barbarian further with yet another name.” 

Fair enough. 


	3. Chapter 3

Lavellan hated being in the Shemlen town. It smelled like shit and the walls felt confining. She missed her clan. She missed being able to curl up with her family and be lulled to sleep by the sound of snores and breathing and the light of the stars… She slipped out of the big, empty bed in the big, empty cabin they had given her and went to walk through the streets of the town. 

The smell wasn’t as bad since the barb- since the Avvar had started setting things on fire. It still smelled, but not nearly as bad, and she hoped that they could fix it further. If she was going to be stuck here, she’d rather not smell like a shemlen. She headed for the gates, intending to maybe walk among the sparse trees, when a deep voice startled her.

“Is all well?” 

It was the Avvar man, frowning down at her, his sister at his elbow. They both had their packs on their shoulders. Their eyes didn’t gleam in the dark like she was used to, but their quiet and scentlessness was familiar and- their packs were on their shoulders.

“Are you leaving?” She felt a slight bit of panic at the thought. They had only been here for a day, but they didn’t call her ‘your worship’ and they tried to fix the smell and they didn’t look down their noses at her when she forgot some shemlen rule. 

“Nay, we are but seeking a… cleaner place to rest.” He answered. “Sky says there is an abandoned building nearby we might take residence in and clean to our liking.” 

“Oh, the old apothecary’s cottage. I can… show you the way?” She had found it the other day while escaping from the staring shemlen.

“We would appreciate the kindness.” He said solemnly, and gestured for her to lead the way.

She started to head for the gates and the two followed her silently despite their size. After a moment she blurted out, “Why did you come?”

“You can fix the sky. We can help.” The woman said simply, as if it were fact, as she drew her furs tighter around herself. “Gods, why is it so cold?”

“Because you are tiny.” The man replied, then added thoughtfully. “Though you seem to be of size for lowlanders…” 

“I am normal! ‘Tis not my fault Avvar birth giants.”

Lavellan glanced over her shoulder at the pair. They both seemed… uncaring that she had the Mark. There was no reverence or faith or whatever it was that had most Shemlen calling her ‘your worship’. It was said in the same tone she might say that a hunter had a bow. But they also seemed to be changing the subject. “Are… most Avvar that big?”

“Aye.” the man nodded. “Aria is considered abnormally delicate for our people.” 

‘Delicate’? She was almost six foot tall!

“It has occured to me that I did not gain your name.” the man said.

Her name? Creators, it felt like years since someone had asked her for her name. “Raj’Sileal.” 

“Raj’Sileal.” He repeated carefully as if taking care not to mispronounce the syllables. “‘Tis a beautiful name.” 

“Raj… Raj… Leader, am I correct in the translation?” The woman asked suddenly. 

“Yes.” Raj grimaced. “My father wanted me to have an important name, so they stuck me with ‘wise leader’.” And then she had never manifested any magic and had crushed their hopes of her becoming a Keeper. 

Aria nodded. “Aye, my brother saddled me with ‘Sky Touched’.” she said, tapping her temple. “Half the hold considered it a compliment of greatness, the other half knew it for a way to say I was half mad.” 

“Are you?”

“Debatable.” The Avvar woman grinned.

It was hard not to return the smile and they walked on. The path was covered in more snow than it had been a few days ago. “How do you know Elvhen?”

“I had a teacher.” Aria answered vaguely, and stumbled slightly in the snow and caught herself by snagging Lugh’s arm to steady herself. “Suhn uhv uh bihtsh! Does it always snow up here?”

“Language.” Lugh said wearily. “We will rest soon.” 

“I hate snow.” Aria grumbled, then sighed in relief. “There it is.”

Raj rocked on her heels and gestured at the abandoned building. “Yeah. Here you go. I’ll just…” 

“You can stay with us if you wish.” Lugh said abruptly. “It will smell better than the hold at least. Aria says the Dalish are always moving so you are not used to the smell any more than we are.” 

“No, I really, really am not.” She sighed. “They’re all so big, and dirty, and loud.” She froze, wondering if she had just accidentally offended the very big shemlen, but Lugh just laughed and drew his ax before nudging the door open and checking for spiders. 

He gave the all clear and it wasn’t long before the three of them were curled up in the freshly swept loft of the building. The pair’s bantering was oddly comforting and it put her in mind of the way her clan would tease and joke with each other. They were big and took up more room than the clan, but it still… felt more familiar. Lavellan fell asleep to the sound of breathing in her ear and an arm tossed over her legs, and it was the best sleep she had in weeks. 

  
  
  
  


Josephine was very, very careful to not allow the panic to show in her bearing. The Herald was missing. That had happened a few times, the girl liked to flee to the woods when she was overwhelmed. But the barbarians were missing as well, and that was cause for concern. Cullen’s men and Leliana’s scouts were scouring for traces of them. 

Josephine was trying to keep the rumors contained and controlled, but Chancellor Roderick was not helping matters, proclaiming quite loudly that ‘he knew all along that they should not have trusted the barbarians within the walls’, as if he cared for the Herald’s safety. No, the man simply wanted to be right about something.

“Well, something has caused quite the tempest among your people.”

Josephine squeaked and whirled at the sound of the Avvar woman’s voice  _ directly behind her _ . She gaped when she saw the Avvar pair standing on either side of the Herald’s shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“We went to sleep somewhere clean.” The woman shrugged, seeming completely at ease, though the Herald fidgeted nervously.

“How… how did you get back in the city?” She was feeling relieved that the three were found, but now that they were found, she was feeling irritated at them for causing such trouble.

“We came over the wall.” Aria pointed at the wall behind the chantry. “A copse of trees grows near it and allows easy entrance. Lugh says you should cut them down if you wish to prevent raiders from using it.” 

“I’ll… make a note of it.” She did, writing it down on reflex. “Now we must-“

“Maker’s Breath! Where have you been?” The Commander Cullen shouted as he advanced on them quickly and Lavellan shrank back behind Lugh’s arm.

“Oh, dancing naked in the woods, sacrificing babes, orgies, all of the traditional savage practices.” Aria said in a bright tone of voice.

The Herald made a strangled, giggling noise and hid her face behind Lugh’s arm when the Commander froze with his mouth open. 

“We were sleeping away from the smell.” Lugh said quietly, the second sentence she had heard from the man.

“They just…” Lavellan shrank back again when everyone looked at her, but kept speaking. “We just slept in the abandoned cottage and then we hunted and ate breakfast… in... the woods.”

“But… why?” Josephine asked in bewilderment. “A morning meal would have been delivered-“

“It’s cleaner.” The Avvar woman said sharply. “And it’s familiar.” She turned her eyes on the Commander and smirked. “You must have been worried we stole her away, your curls are showing.”

Josephine blinked and looked over at Cullen. His usually meticulously tamed hair showed signs of being hastily slicked back with water, instead of the pomade she knew he used to tame it, and a few strands were now drying in small ringlets.

Cullen flushed and raked his fingers through his hair in a self conscious gesture to try and tame them, but it only served to fluff the curls. 

Lugh suddenly grinned, the expression lighting his face up. “Godendwlid.” 

“Indeed.” Aria crossed her arms, unashamedly smirking at the poor man.

“You disappeared at the same time as the Herald did.” Cullen spoke, his voice carrying a note of irritation as well as embarrassment.

“Aye. And now we’re back.” Aria clicked her tongue. “And I have yet to see those wash basins you promised me, Godendwlid.” 

“Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Rutheford.”

“One of them. Basins. Soap.” Aria said slowly and rolled her hand. “Need?”

The Commander actually threw up his hands and stormed off with a. “I will call off the search as she has been found.”

“Wash Basins, Godendwlid!” The Avvar woman shouted after him.

Oh, dear! “I can have those arranged.” Josephine interjected, sensing an argument was about to brew, and truly, wash basins and soap was an easy thing to acquire and would lend a sense of… well, ‘holiness’ to the Inquisition. Ritual cleansings… Andraste had been Alammari, perhaps she could spin this to their advantage.

“What are your views on Andraste, Master Lugh?”

Lugh’s eyes widened and his face flushed, but he answered, a quiet, barely there, “Who?”

Who? Josephine barely kept from gaping at him. She knew he was a barbarian, but to never have heard of Andraste? Ever?

Aria elbowed her brother. “Andraste is their god’s lover, she is almost a god herself in their eyes.”

His face cleared and he gave her a solemn head tilt. “I respect all of the gods, even yours.” 

Even hers? But Aria knew who she was. “And… what are your thoughts, Lady Aria?”

Aria scrunched her nose. “Sky, if you do not mind. And what about Andraste do you want my opinion on? Her Elven lover, Shartan? Her gift of The Dales to the elves for their help in her war against Tevinter? The ones who claimed her word was law and in the same breath condemned those she called friends and took back what she had gifted and soaked the land in their blood? That Andraste?”

Oh dear!

  
  
  
  


Solas was unsure what to make of the newcomers. His impressions of the mountain peoples from the fade was… unwashed and uncivilized. But the pair… they healed with long lost methods. They had a shocking vehemence for cleanliness with knowledge of disease long past what was known widely. They had precise and expansive skill with their magic, and… a subtleness to them that was… close to wisdom. The Avvar man had surprised him with both his skill and his humility.

The spell he had used in the tavern… it required an incredible amount of focus and control, and for the spell to have been cast so cleanly after the tremendous amount of mana expended during the day of healing…

Solas was curious. 

The woman… was skilled, was not humble, and did not care if she caused offense. She was set in her way and could not be moved from it, she was so certain that she was in the right. Which… she seemed to be so far as disease prevention and healing were concerned. She also had an unsettling way of eyeing him, half curious and half suspicious, that he might have dismissed as simply barbarian curiosity of never meeting an elf, had she stared at the herald as well, which she had not.

Within the few days of ‘bullying’ the Inquisition Commander- which he did not bother to hide his amusement over the scene of her berating the Templar as he tried to train his troops. Solas almost felt sorry for the unfortunate recruit he had sparred with directly after the confrontation -Hand washing basins were placed outside the chantry, apothecary, and tavern, and a ‘Suggestion’ placed on the chantry board by the Commander that for cleanliness, everyone was encouraged to wash their hands. Daily if possible.

Solas believed that the notice would have been completely ignored if not for the machinations of the brother. He hired the refugee children to essentially ‘tattle’ on anyone who touched food or tools without washing their hands. It was… childish, troops of children yelling ‘dirty hands’ after people, but it proved… effective… Even the tavern owner began to insist that people wash their hands before they came into her building, if only to keep from being swarmed by shouting children. 

The public shaming coupled with the well placed words of the Ambassador that suggested that ‘cleansing’ was next to holiness seemed to have some effect and by the time Solas was gathering his things to accompany the Herald to the Hinterlands, one could see most people whispering prayers as they washed their hands before entering buildings. 

He left with the Herald, the Seeker, and the Child of stone for the Hinterlands. He half expected that in the time it took them to stabilize the area the novelty of the new rule would wear off and things would swiftly revert back, the pair would give up as the other humans did not like change or to be told what was best for them by those they deemed beneath themselves… that or the pair would be thrown out of Haven.

  
  
  


Cullen was trying to read the scouts reports past the blurriness caused by the throbbing in his head. Lights flashed in the corners of his eyes and he was half certain he would be sick. Everything ached and he was acutely aware of the rasp of his pauldrons against the back of his neck.

Reports. 

He had closed the tent flaps hoping the lesser light would give him some form of relief, but even the dim flickering of the candle he was trying to read by sent stabbing pain through his eyes into his skull. He tried to focus on the paper laying on his desk and not the persistent twisting in his gut.

"Commander Godendwlid!"

He winced at the stabbing pain her shout inflicted. The barbarian woman… the last person he felt able to deal with at the moment. Light flooded into the tent and he leaned against his desk and tried to keep from being sick as a paper was tossed on top of the report he was supposed to be reading.

"Put it down. I'll have it done." He forced out, hoping that she would leave if he didn't bother arguing and just conceded to whatever new demand she was making now.

There was a long silence where she didn't move, and he was trying to summon the energy to lift his head to look at her when she whispered to herself in a berateing tone, "Eye’em uh horuhbuhl Persuhn.”

He jerked when he felt hands on his shoulders and immediately regretted it as he retched when the movement tipped the threat of being sick into reality. By the time he was done heaving there was an odd lightness and just as he realized it was because she had somehow rid him of his cloak, a glass was pushed into his hands. 

"Swish and spit. Do not drink till you are sure it will stay." The usually loud and angry barbarian instructed softly, and then she blew out the candle. 

He complied, half to avoid her reverting to shrieking, half to rinse the taste of sick from his mouth. Then she was tugging at him and he followed out of exhausted resignation. He was pushed down to sit on his cot and then she was tugging at the buckles of his breast plate. He tried to bat her hands away, but his movements were sluggish from the aches and she shushed him

“You need to rest, and the armor will only make the aches worse.” She said gently and he felt his breastplate loosen despite his silent protest. 

“I have work to do.” He said, and tried not to think of how weak his voice sounded.

“You need rest, Godendwlid.” She pulled his gauntlets off. “You’re no use to the Inquisition if you dig yourself an early grave by refusing to rest.” 

He felt a stab of guilt that was almost as painful as the throbbing in his head and he grabbed at her hands when they went back to his breastplate.

“Hush, I didn’t mean it like that. The singing in your blood will ease, but until then you must rest.” 

The singing in his- Could she sense the lyrium? His shock over her sentence gave her the time she needed to wrest his breastplate from him and he felt horribly exposed, confined with a mage who had taken his armor and he could barely see, let alone defend himself-

“Gods, you are soaked.” Her hand pressed against his chest and he noticed his under shirt was soaked in sweat. “Arms up, you need dry clothing.”

“That’s not-“ he tried to pry her hands away when they gathered the hem of his tunic.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” her voice was firm but blessedly not loud. “I am acting as a healer. Nothing more. Remove your shirt, man, before you freeze.”

Later, when in a better state of mind and body he would wonder how she had known his full name. As it was, his head still ached and his stomach was threatening to heave yet again. Very reluctantly he lifted his arms, the muscles in his back nearly spasming at the movement, making the movement jerky and he groaned at the thought of adding yet another layer to his shame. If he had not stopped taking the Lyrium this would not be happening. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a “Commander, I have the repor- Maker!” 

“The Commander is resting. Leave the report with the Ambassador.” She said, her tone leaving no room for debate as she took advantage of his distraction and pushed him down onto his cot.

“Right. Yes. Forgive me.” The light in the tent flared and ebbed painfully as the runner retreated hastily.

“Aye… that will be all over the hold by evening.” She muttered as she draped his blanket over him. “I am sorry for that.” 

If his body had not decided in that moment to start shivering violently he may have asked what she was apologizing for. As it was, he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering and she tapped his face gently. 

“Relax ere you make it worse.” She scolded, then moved away. “I am going to cast a small spell, on the ground, not on you. It will warm the air. Nothing more, nothing less. Is this agreeable to you?”

Being warm sounded very agreeable and he must have given her consent because then he felt the familiar sensation of a spell being cast nearby and the air around him slowly rose in temperature, as if he had just walked to stand next to a fire for warmth. He closed his eyes in relief and he could hear the sounds of movement around his tent, then the Avvar spoke again, still unusually gentle in tone.

“I cleaned everything up and placed water and some bread by your cot. The spell will last an hour, so I will return to refresh it. Can I trust you to stay in bed until this passes?” 

At this moment he could not even force himself from the cot if he tried, for the first time in months he was warm and relaxed… well, as much as the ache in his head would allow and now he just felt completely exhausted and had to fight to keep his eyes open. “Yes.” 

“Good man.” She said approvingly, and the part of him that he tried so hard to quell warmed at the praise. “Rest, Godendwlid. This will pass and your blood will be your own.” 

With that she was gone… and yet again he was left to wonder what ‘Godendwlid’ meant.

  
  
  


Josephine startled when Leliana burst into her office and slapped a paper down on her desk. “I do not know what to make of them!” Her friend sighed.

Josephine hummed and looked over the paper. It was filled with tiny, neat figures. In the upper corner was a note of the average days wages, and in the other corner was a note of ‘that arses’ going rates’ for several much needed items. Below the figures was a brief note that hiring some of the refugees to gather and process elfroot and nugs from the surrounding forests would be cheaper than buying potions and jerky from Seggritt. The math was excellently done and Josephine made a note to pursue the idea.

“Who suggested this?”

“The Avvar, Lugh.”

Josephine blinked in surprise. “The silent one?”

“Oh, he’s only silent around you.” Leliana sighed. “Outside of your presence he is constantly barking orders and threatening the surgeons. I found him training the mages in ice magic yesterday. Apparently to ‘reduce swelling’.”

“Really? I had no idea the Avvar were so advanced in their healing.” This was a surprise. “Antivan healers have only just begun using cold compresses and ice to ease stiff muscles and swelling.”

"I asked if he had trained with an Antivan healer and he laughed at me. Politely, he is excruciatingly polite, but the thought of a 'lowlander' knowing more than his sister seemed to amuse him. He says his sister taught him everything he knows, and that she learned it from the Sky." Leliana sighed. She did hate not knowing things.

That was interesting, and probably worth contacting some researchers she knew of who studied Avvar culture. She did feel as if she floundered when speaking to the woman as she did not know much at all of their culture. The diplomat in her always felt appalled, “I will send a letter, hopefully we can gain some insight.”

"Thank you, Josie. I'll keep prying at them, but I feel they're dancing with riddles. That Lugh can talk circles around most of my spies, and the worst part is, I don’t think he is even trying!”

“Is he really so talkative?” Her impression of the man was that he was very quiet, awkward, and solemn.

“Yes. He is only silent around you because, in his words, ‘She be like one of those delicate, colorful birds and I fear frightening her into flight by speaking too loud’.” Again Leliana deepened her voice comically. 

Well that was… a compliment? “Is that a compliment?”

Leliana nodded. “Apparently he’s quite fond of the birds, he has a little book filled with sketches of them. He showed them to Lavellan when they disappeared the first night.” She sighed. “At least he is less… forward than his sister. Poor Cullen looks dazed still.” 

The Commander? “He looked more irate than dazed the last time they spoke, Leli.”

“In public, dearest Josie.” Leliana sat on her desk with the smirk she always wore when sharing gossip. “One of the runners found her pushing him, half dressed, onto his bed and said to have no one disturb him. He did not reappear the entire day and gets this adorable little puzzled crease between his brows when he looks at her now.” 

Really!? This was interesting! “You should not be calling our Commander ‘adorable’, Leli.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “But he is and you know it.” 

He was a pleasant specimen to look at but that was beside the point. “If only his looks compensated for his lack of tact in diplomacy.” She mumbled and jotted down a few notes… If the commander is starting to ‘keep company’ perhaps a larger cot? Or tent? Maybe a cabin? Yes, a cabin. With a locking door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for triggered PTSD and the assumed threat of rape (it does not happen) All of this in Cullen's POV

Lugh was patiently overseeing the construction efforts of Sky's newest project when his 'helpers' got the fidgety tenseness that meant one of the not-thanes was approaching from behind him. 

"Lugh." It was the Commander, and he sounded irritated. He had probably just come from speaking to Sky then. "Would you please tell me what 'Godendwlid' means?"

"Aye. It means 'good to look upon' in our mother tongue." He had been wondering when the man would finally ask. The Lowlanders had a terrible lack of curiosity. Nosy, but uncurious. Curious how that could be. 

One of the helpers, a man in trouble for falling too deep in his cups and thus punished by being assigned to help the barbarians, snickered under his breath as the commander gaped at him. 

"You-?" The man flushed and seemed at a loss for words. "Why?"

Lugh paused in his work and turned to slowly look the commander over from head to toe and back, then smiled the lopsided grin Sky said was charming. The man was very pretty, if sickly. Aria had berated herself thoroughly for forgetting his ‘condition’. "Tis true."

The man's flush deepened. "That- it's hardly profesional!"

Lugh let his grin get wider, amused. "I would know nothing of that matter. I am but a simple Avvar warrior, Godendwlid, and my people see fit to name things as we behold them." 

“You- Maker’s breath.” The man exhaled sharply and turned on his heel, back towards where the warriors were training. 

That reminded him: “Aye, let me know if you ever wish to spar.” Lugh called after him. 

It took quite a lot of effort not to let his laughter out at the way the man stumbled slightly, then refused to look back and acknowledge that he had heard despite the way his neck was visibly flushed. Lugh turned back to find that those assigned to help him were all looking exceptionally entertained, but not very busy.

“Back to work. Godendwlid needs a place to rest.” 

“I’m sure he will.” One of them snickered. 

  
  
  
  


Cullen was… he was flustered. He had thought… he had thought the barbarians had been mocking him. They both smirked whenever they had said that Maker damned word to him and he had assumed that they were making fun of him.

Gone was the woman who had comforted him and helped him get through the worst of a spell. The woman, ‘Sky’ she kept demanding he call her, had been shouting at him again to lend her the recruits that were being punished for their conduct in the tavern. And the moment he had finally caved, given in and agreed, she had given him a sharp smile and called him that word again.

So he had gone to her brother the next morning, the quieter of the two, for a translation, finally tired of being called a word he did not understand, and the man had…  _ propositioned _ him. In public! Both of them had been- and he hadn’t-

He would admit he was fleeing. The  _ look _ that Lugh had given him, and then the offer yelled after him… He was fleeing and the safest place he could think of from the brazen pair was the War Room. Avvar… he was beginning to believe he liked it better when they were unnamed Barbarians. 

He opened the door and slipped in, laying his reports out on the table and spreading them out before leaning heavily on the table and hanging his head as he rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder where a recruits swing had gone wide and his blunted weapon had clipped him as he was walking past; if he did not get any interruptions for a few hours he could- 

A hand suddenly touched the side of the face and he could sense magic- He reacted, his training making him lash out with the remnants of his aura, casting a smite on the mage who had ambushed him. He felt dizzy the moment he did, his already waning aura weakening him from the sudden strain, and the disorientation allowed his attacker to grab the collar of his armor.

His back slammed against the wall and he felt a dagger at his throat long before his eyes focused enough to find the Avvar woman glaring at him. Her teeth were both clenched and bared at him and he moved, drills beat into him through long training sessions moving his limbs and twisting just so, to loosen her grip, using his foot to push off the wall and unbalance, get her arms, dagger away and  _ move _ \- contain, suppress- 

Immobilize.

She was a far better fighter than most of the mages he had ever tangled with, but he was stronger, if barely, and he managed to pin her to the war table, her arms locked behind her back and his weight keeping her from kicking him. 

“Fuck! Cullen…” she twisted and he almost lost his grip and was forced to press harder against her, using his upper body to pin her arms until he could regain his grip. “Easy, not so hard.”

He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, figure out how this had happened, how he hadn't noticed her, why she had- Had she attacked him? “What are you-?“

“Currently? Magicless and bent over a table.” Her voice sounded strained. “If you wanted this you could have just asked. Not my favorite position, but I’m flexible.” 

She was- “Maker, why must you-? Stop-” 

She suddenly moved her hips back against him and he growled in frustration as he was not about to let her go without answers. But the way she- “Stop moving.” He put enough pressure against her arms to make her let out a soft gasp. “Why did you attack me?” 

She very deliberately moved against him again. “I’m pretty sure you attacked me first.” 

“Maker, don’t- Stop!” He tried to angle away but that was hard to do without giving her room to escape his hold.

“One of us is currently pinned over the table, my friend.” She sounded a little breathless. “You want me to stop doing that, you need to let me go.” 

“What were you doing… in here?” His arms were shaking from the strain of holding her down and the smite that had drained him. 

“Waiting for the meeting.” She grunted and twisted, successfully pulling a hand free and knocking some of his papers to the floor before he could secure it again. She grunted and then dropped her head to the table with a thump, still wiggling beneath him. “Waiting, and then you looked- stressed. And then you attacked me.” She paused and then groaned. “Fuck!” She thumped her head against the table again before muttering. “You didn’t know I was in here. I startled you. Sorry.”

Sorry? “What?”

“Do you want me to say I'm a bad mage too? Because I can role play.” She laughed but then immediately groaned, “I’m making it worse. Forget I said that. Unless you’re into… Nope, forget I said that.”

She mercifully stopped wiggling, which allowed him to try and gather his thoughts. “You startled me?”

“You looked stressed, I went to check for a fever and startled you, you took my magic, I didn’t want to be defenseless, and then I ended up over a table and not in the fun way.” She paused. “Am I right?”

She was… Maker. He jerked away as he realized the ‘misunderstanding’ and to his horror, his body had reacted to her movements underneath him and he quickly turned his back to her to face the wall, praying the Maker was merciful and she had not noticed. “Forgive me, I-“

“Hey, it's alright, that was completely on me. I should have re-uh said something first.” She made an utterly exhausted sound as she pushed herself off of the table. “But hey, that was my first time getting hit by that move, so… yay for me. No longer a Templar virgin.”

Maker, why did she have to… “You shouldn’t say things like… that.” He growled in embarrassed frustration. 

“Like what? I was a templar virgin? Or Fuck?” She raised her eyebrows. “Or ‘oh no please don’t bend me over a table and then not fuck me because it makes my bits all confused’?” 

“Maker, why do you keep talking?” He pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“Because I’m extraordinarily embarrassed but making you blush makes me feel better about myself, Godendwlid. Also, if your blood is going to your neck it’s not going to other places.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face and his problem immediately seemed to go away at the thought that… Maker, she had noticed and thought that he- ‘I didn’t want to feel defenceless’ she had said. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t have- “I would not… force myself on you.” No, he couldn’t. He wasn’t like them. 

There was a long beat of silence before a very quiet ‘oh’ sounded behind him. “I… I knew that. I wouldn’t have felt safe… teasing you if I didn’t know that. You’re not a bad person.” 

“You don’t know…” he sighed heavily before straightening his shoulders. He had to get out of there. He had to get away from… this. “I apologize for my actions.” He inclined his head and moved for the door, he had to- Maker, he had reacted.

“Cullen.” Her voice was soft as it had been that day in his tent and her hand fell on his arm and all he could think was how she had reached out in an attempt to comfort and he… Maker, he had stripped her magic away, a painful thing by itself, and then had pinned her to the table in a position that- and his body had- he felt as if he could not breathe. Maker, he had to leave… he pulled away from her arm and wrenched the door open, intending to make a swift escape, to remove the threat he was from her presence. 

Leliana and Josephine were standing outside, both of them smirking but pretending not to be, their eyes flicking from his hair to the table and Sky behind him and he couldn’t even- He knew what they must be thinking, and the thought of- after he- ‘The bad mage and the Templar’. 

He was going to be sick. “Forgive me.” He forced out as he forced his feet to move. He needed- needed to get away.

He walked so quickly he might as well have run, shouldering past people and ignoring calls for his attention. He could hear their laughter within his mind, the jeers that he was no better than the rest. He was sick outside of Haven’s walls. He had tried so hard to distance himself from the likes of Alrik and then he had- 

He eventually found himself standing at the edge of the frozen lake, forcibly controlling his breathing and letting the icy wind force his mind into the present. The shadows had shifted by the time he heard heavy, deliberate steps and the Avvar man moved to stand next to him. 

He waited for… something, some reaction for attacking his sister, but the man remained silent. He waited until he couldn’t bear the silence before speaking. “Did she tell you?”

“No.” Was all the barbarian said, his eyes fixed on the ice of the lake. 

“I attacked her. Stripped her magic.” 

The man just hummed in the back of his throat. “Why?”

“Why? What difference does it matter why? I did.” Cullen scraped his hand over his face. He had made her defenseless and trapped her beneath him and she had known his reaction. He must have terrified her, he deserved whatever vengeance the barbarians deemed just.

He made that humming noise again. “I believe the why of things makes all the difference. Killing a hound because you want to is a cruel thing, while killing a hound because it suffers or is a danger to others and you cannot help it is a mercy. So… Why?” 

Cullen closed his eyes tightly. “Because… Because I am weak. Because I mistook a gesture of comfort for an attack.”

“Ah. Tis a normal thing for warriors. My mother once stabbed my father in the thigh because he laid a hand on her shoulder in the dark when she thought he was out hunting. They had been wedded six years. It is a sign that one has survived, not that one is weak.” 

A-? “What are you doing?” He could not understand. The man should have been seeking vengeance for his sister, not… whatever this was. 

“You look as if you are distressed. I came to see if I could aid.” The man paused and then added. “She is well.”

“How could you know that? You did not even know why I was-“ was what? Spewing his guts out? Why his hands shook and his head had begun to pound?

“I know she is well because I found her throwing crumpled papers at the Spymaster and demanding she leave you be. I know you were distressed because you carry the air of a man that is distressed.” He paused again and added. “And because my sister was demanding they leave you be. If you wish to be alone, I will respect that and keep the others from bothering you.”

How did the man always sound so certain? “I… I just need…” he could not find the words and he clenched his hands in frustration. This was not worthy of him, he was a Commander of the Inquisition. He was better than this… he had to be..

There was another stretch of silence and the Avvar spoke again. “Do you know how I earned my Legend Mark?” He let out a soft huff. “Of course you do not. A man tried for more than he ought with my sister and she set him, and half the mountain, to fire. I faced her through the flames and talked her to calm. ‘Twas considered brave of me, but it only made sense at the time. Ah, that is beside the point of the story.” 

Cullen raised his head, which he hadn’t realized he had cradled in his hands and looked at the man, half in confusion at the story and half in impressed horror at the amount of power that would have required. “The… mountain?”

“Aye. Only half.” Lugh continued. “You may have taken her magic and perhaps one or two of her blades, but I have no doubt if she had felt you meant her true harm you would not have breath to draw.” 

‘One or two’… he had only seen the one dagger. “I… There was only the one.”

Lugh turned and looked him over, and then gave him a… shockingly gentle smile. “And not a scratch on ye. You did not frighten her, Godendwlid. Surprise? Yes. Frighten? No.”

Cullen didn’t know what to say to that. That the man was trying… trying to help him and the sister, Sky… Sky was… “Is she truly throwing paper at the Spymaster?”

“Aye.” Lugh cracked a smile and laughed, and it was ridiculous enough that Cullen… felt better. 

  
  
  
  
  


Leliana had not expected the Commander to have  _ those _ particular tastes. But upon finding Josephine standing outside of the war room with wide eyes and clutching her clipboard to her chest and staring at the door in disbelief, she had shamelessly pressed her ear to the door. The old wooden door was thick and solid, which was why they had chosen the room for their meetings, and she could only catch bits and pieces, but plenty enough to glean what was happening. A few curses and groans, a few thumps, and a rather shocking bit about a bad mage and a templar.

All of which was telling, but then the Commander had opened the door and he and the Avvar both looked absolutely dishevelled, papers strewn across the floor, and Aria had a growing bruise around her wrists and was breathing rather heavily. It seemed that the event in his tent had not been a one time thing after all. 

The Avvar watched him leave and then narrowed her eyes at them. “Leave him alone.” 

“He is safe from us.” Leliana replied. She certainly had no designs on the man. 

Josephine hurriedly agreed, “Oh, quite. We would never dream of interfering with your… relations with the Commander. You do not-“

The woman glared, crumpling a paper into a ball and threw it at them, it bounced off harmlessly but was enough to give them both pause. “Get your gossip elsewhere.” She growled, shouldering past them. “Lugh! Eye mehst uhp!”

Leliana refused to admit that the man’s presence had gone unnoticed by her. The pair were horribly silent, worse than Zevran almost. The giant barbarian had a concerned furrow between his brows as he caught his sister’s hands and soothed healing magic over her wrists. 

“Wuht ihzit?”

“Prihteeboy, hee haz peetee’ehsdee- like’mahm.” 

“Ah. Eye wihl fye’nd hihm, freht naht.” He patted her hands and turned and left as silently as he had arrived. 

Aria rubbed her wrists and then crossed her arms and sighed as she watched the man go.

Leliana cocked her head, as she tried to place the language. Not Alamarri. “What language is that?”

“It’s our twin’s tongue.” 

“You are twins?!” Josephine asked, her tone mirroring Leliana’s own surprise at that tidbit. Siblings was not too hard a stretch but… twins?

Aria blinked in surprise. “Aye. Huh. ‘Tis funny to be in a place the fact is not well known.” 

“But you-” Josephine cut herself off and blushed.

“Am small and delicate while he is well built, aye, I know.” The tall and well muscled woman rolled her eyes.

“That… was not, oh nevermind.” Josephine seemed to have reached her limits for that day and turned to march back to her office without another word. 

Aria picked up the fallen crumpled paper and tossed it at her again and Leliana blinked yet again as the inoffensive object bounced off of her shoulder.

“I mean it, Spymaster. Leave the man alone. I cause him enough of a headache without the two of you dogging him.”

  
  
  


Raj was… surprisingly happy to see Haven come back into view. The Hinterlands had been brutal, mages fighting templars and bears (so many bears) and they had found Mother Giselle and the Warden and he was big and hairy and he smelled like… well, like a shemlen.

But Haven came into view, and for once… her eyes didn’t water at the smell. It seemed to be clearing, and she felt a little awed as she approached the gates and saw a wash basin near it. She washed her hands and wondered if this was the Avvars’ doing. She had the perfect opportunity to ask as the moment she passed through the gates she was greeted by Sky and Lugh waving with bright grins at the sight of her.

“Raj! It’s good to see you!” Sky called out, and she sounded… honestly happy.

Lugh waited until they were closer before speaking, his normally solemn expression tinged with excitement. “We have something new to show you.” 

“I would love to see it, but I need a bath first. I feel like I rolled in mud.” 

“Perhaps that is because you did.” Solas laughed quietly as he washed his hands in a basin nearby. 

“I maintain that that was entirely your fault.” Raj rolled her eyes. She had been up a tree to scout the path ahead and he had been practicing some sort of spell that had ended up knocking her out of her perch.

Aria narrowed her eyes at Solas, glancing between her and the mage, and then slung an arm over her shoulders and began pulling her away from the gate. “I can aid you with that problem. Lugh here has been toiling away to have this ready for your return.” 

Raj let her lead the way, but after a few steps the Avvar leaned down to whisper. “Not that one, dear. Find someone whose head is in the present.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Lugh snorted and opened the door to a building that had not been there when she had left. She glanced around curiously and her eyes widened in delight as she saw a large stone pool with steam curling off of the surface. “A bath!“

“Oh, there is more that I believe is better than that.” Lugh sounded very, very pleased with himself as he motioned for her to look behind a screened off area. “If you pull that rope, hot water will fall from that pipe. That way you do not have to use the same bathing pool as the rest of Haven. Sky and I make much use of it.” 

“Fascinating,” Raj turned at the sound of Solas’ voice. She hadn’t realized he had followed them. “It is clever, very inventive.”

“Tis but an indoor waterfall.” Lugh shrugged and pointed at a shelf built against the wall. “There are soaps and towels, and do not fret about the waste water. It is carried away by buried pipes. There is a waterfall behind each screen so all who wish to use it may.” He said with a very, very pointed look at Blackwall, who was looking around with raised eyebrows. “Often. Daily is preferable.” 

It seemed like the entire party had followed them in. Raj would bet it was because they didn’t want to leave her alone with the siblings. Cassandra had given her some very pointed words about trusting the ‘barbarians’. She had been very proud of herself that she had pointed out that the ‘barbarians’ smelled better than she did. A comment that seemed to have made a lasting impression by the way the Seeker was edging towards one of the screened off areas. 

“You expect everyone to bathe daily?” Blackwall asked with a confused but good natured laugh. “Are we keeping company of royalty?”

“We  _ expect _ the Lowlanders to wallow in their own filth, but we  _ hope _ that they will bathe daily.” Aria said with a grin as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. 

“I heard the gilt lady say that cleanliness is near to holiness, and we have labored much to make it a simple matter for you… Lowlanders.” 

“Well, shit, Sky. Looks like the two of you have been busy.” Varric pulled one of the ropes experimentally and put his hand under the stream and whistled. “How’d you get Curly to sign off on this?”

Aria’s grin faltered slightly before she shrugged. “We discussed it and he saw it is best to do things my way.”

“Huh,” Varric scratched his chin, “you got a sketch on how those pipes work?” 

“Aye. Sketches of the pipes and the mechanisms for the ropes as well as the alignment of the heating glyphs. If such things interest you, I can translate a copy for your benefit.” Lugh shifted and inexplicably reached out and ruffled her hair. “For now, all of you smell of the road.” 

Raj laughed and started to pull off the horrible shemlen boots they had made her wear. “A hot waterfall sounds lovely to me. Thank you!” 

Lugh grinned and then leaned down, way down, and whispered into her ear. “You are welcome to our cabin at any time, Raj’Sileal. You need not ask.”

There was her name again, her real name, and after three weeks on the road with smelly shemlans, and everything, including the wildlife, trying to kill her, these were the best words she had heard all month… besides a bath. 

  
  
  
  


Solas was not often surprised by the same individuals twice… This seemed to be a time for rare occurrences, for upon their return the combined efforts of Aria’s will and self assuredness and Lugh’s imposing determination seemed to have had a profound effect. The stench that hung over Haven had nearly dissipated. The Bathhouse had been a pleasant surprise, as well as the shockingly inventive ‘indoor waterfalls’ and pipes that the pair refused to admit were clever inventions. 

Handwashing and bathing seemed to slowly have become normal, the privy trenches were burned nightly to keep the filth from building up, the refugees found occupation in scrubbing every surface with soap and water, soap that they had made. The few mages were also similarly occupied in conjuring and boiling water for cleaning and drinking. The commander seemed torn between dismissing the efforts as wasted labor, and in being pleasantly relieved at the decrease in both smell and complaining. 

Solas was also surprised to notice that the Commander seemed oddly meek in Aria’s presence. Agreeing quickly to whatever she said before finding some avenue of escape. Something had happened in their absence. 

Aria and Lugh. The pair were a mystery. 

Solas had few dealings with Avvar of this age, and though the spirit seemed to be fonder of them than most of this world's shadows, they had only once caught his interest… many centuries ago. She was long dead, her spirit had not endured as elvhen, he grieved and he had turned his attention to other things. His few stories of the memories of the Avvar had enraptured the Herald, and then, when he had run out of stories safe to tell her, she had looked thoughtful. 

“I wonder how they’ve changed since then.” She had murmured and Solas felt a pang of curious guilt for not knowing much of how the Avvar had survived and changed in the ages past. It had not been a memory he had wished to dredge up, it had been only his second personal dealing with loss. He forced his mind away from the memories and when the pair were distracted in the healing tent with the wounded carried back from the Hinterlands, he went to the building they had claimed. 

They had set up a laboratory of sorts in the old apothecary hut, and the once abandoned structure was now teeming with projects… cauldrons, pots and odd vials and herbs. There was a large, if crude, sign posted in front of the building, that any who entered had better wash their hands and be wearing face coverings on threat of being tossed into the lake if they did not. There was a suspicious hole in the ice of the lake that looked as if it had been magically melted open to lend credence to the threat.

Though he did follow the posted rules. There was a pair of bed rolls in the loft of the building and he wondered briefly if the Herald would make her way to the cabin tonight as she had the first night the pair had arrived. To be truthful with himself, her easy, if strange, companionship with the pair was the nudge that had made him risk exposure in order to go through their things in search of answers. Twice in the hinterlands she had asked him if he knew a thing about the Avvar and their culture.

It was fascinating to see the crude distillery they had fashioned to make their ‘shine of the moon’ potion… which was actually extremely potent alcohol. Crude, but when you lived in a world where magic was taboo, something was better than nothing. There was a trunk, locked but simple to pick open, filled with books. Each book was filled with a flowing script, looping in on itself several times, looking as if the hand was never raised from the paper until the word or thought was done. There were diagrams and drawings, but not a word was understandable to him, not a symbol recognizable. If it was a code, it was more complex than any he had ever made or seen. Not even Dirthamen’s runes had this… fluidity to them. There were diagrams and notes, and the pages seemed to span from childish scrawls to small and neat looping lines. He would wager this was their collection of knowledge, spanning years. He could see a diagram of the crude distillery they used, and a drawing of elfroot, labeled neatly with the unknown language and letters? Were they letters or entire words? It was hard to tell with how the loops interconnected and flowed so seamlessly. 

He could cast a translation spell to glean the intent that had seeped into the pages but that would leave recognizable traces on the object, his brand of magic was difficult to conceal, and truly… he did not know the extent of their magical training and did not wish to risk exposure by underestimating the odd pair. 

He was examining a disturbingly accurate drawing of a pair of lungs and chambers of a heart when a noise outside the cabin had him quickly putting the books back into place and relocking the trunk. He was casually peering at a jar of pickled spindleweed when the door opened and the Avvar woman entered.

She narrowed her eyes at him briefly, green and sharp over the cloth of her face covering, before looking around. “You did not touch the tools, did you?” 

“I did not.” The tools he had left untouched, having been fairly certain of their uses.

She made an odd humming noise in her throat and moved to check on the distillery before moving to a table and beginning to grind some herbs into powder. “Are you needing a potion? I was under the impression you are a healer as well.”

“While I have some necessary ability in healing, it is not my area of expertise.” He spoke mildly, placing his hands behind his back. 

She paused in her work and looked at him from the corner of her eyes before making that humming noise again and indicating a shelf with a jerk of her chin. “There are sleeping herbs in there. Or if the opposite troubles you, a potion to keep one awake and alert.” 

“Why do you assume sleep is what troubles me?”

“Well, it’s either that or you need a potion to get you up.” She said, her eye glinting mischievously. He did not need to see the lower half of her face to know she was smirking at him. “Most men who can cast a healing spell only come to a potion maker for help with sex or sleep.” 

He decided to avoid… that. “Do you not count yourself a healer?” 

She laughed, a sharp, abrupt sound, then shrugged. “I can heal, but Healer is a title best reserved for my brother. I aid, experiment. I have not the patience for people.”

“Ah.” He watched her as she worked for a moment before deciding she would not volunteer any information and asked, “I would like a bottle of your ‘cleansing potion’ for my travel pack.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow at him. “You are a mage. I find it difficult to believe you have not mastered a cleansing spell. What need have you of my potion?”

“Cleansing spells may remove debris, but according to some, they do not quell disease.” 

Aria froze, then abruptly began muttering in a clipped language he was utterly unfamiliar with, dropping her pestle to begin scrawling across a nearby scrap of paper, only to drop the charcoal and begin rummaging through a cupboard, before slamming it shut and moving towards the door, still muttering. She paused at the door and turned back, wrenching another cupboard open and withdrawing a vial. She handed it to him and then barged out the door.

He blinked, a little stunned by her behavior, then looked at the paper she had abandoned. It was Common, fortunately, but the words were odd. 

‘Experiment: cleansing spells - sanitize? Broth. Stay out of my things.’ 

The last words made him pause and then laugh. She had known, said nothing, and then had delivered her message to him without speaking a word. The irony that in trying not to underestimate them he had done just that. 

He thought perhaps the fade would offer some insight to the two, each being a mage, spirits would have taken notice of them. Solas found the Avvar man’s dream easily and slipped into it. There were none of the wards to step over as with most modern mages. The dream was a reflection of the first day the pair had arrived in Haven, blood and injured scattered across the Fade, and in the center, the Avvar worked steadily to tend to the wounded. He approached, hoping to glean more of the odd stranger’s character from his unguarded dream, but the man glanced up from his dream stitches and nodded. 

“Well met. I am not willing to share my bones, but you are welcome to share in my dream.”

Solas found himself startled by the words. “You are aware you are dreaming?”

“Aye. I may not have my sister’s skill with shaping dreams, but I know well enough when I am.” The Avvar turned back to his healing.

“Why do you labor over them if you know they are not real?” Solas asked.

The avvar was quiet until he finished the dream’s sutures and moved to the next wounded shade. “I do not wish to be the kind of man who can stand aside and allow suffering when I have the means to aid.”

“But they aren’t real. None of this is real.” Solas pressed.

The man lifted his gaze to him and shrugged. “So? It looks to me as if they suffer, and I can aid. So I do. I will not stand aside, even for a shade.” 

Solas watched in silence for some time, and then the man looked up again with a puzzled crease between his brows. “Why that shape? I hardly had enough time to know him for you to take his shape.”

“I am not a spirit.” He gave him a smile making sure to radiate calm to the fade around them just in case the revelation did not go over well.

The man sat back on his heels with a fascinated expression. “Huh. Did you mean to find my dream? Or does your dream take you where it will? Can you shape your dreams? Can you shape another's dream?”

That… was not the reaction he had expected. “Some dreams are easier to find than others. But to answer your question, it entirely depends upon my intent upon entering the Fade. If I wish to find a forgotten memory, the fade and spirits will lead and point out small facts and treasures I might have missed. 

Abruptly the dream scene changed and Solas found himself seated by a crude fire. Lugh was across from him with a tattered notebook in his hand and a burnt stick for a writing instrument. The man was leaning forward with blatant curiosity as he wrote with quick, fluid movements. “So you can affect and guide your own dreams, awareness of dreaming, finding others is purposeful…” He frowned and then glanced at him. “But why my dreams? Can you affect it? Or would that mean you would have to clash with my intent?”

“I have the unique gift, yes, however, to change the dream of the dreamer without permission would be considered an attack.” Solas answered, his eyes taking in the stone walls around them, furs and tools placed in a surprisingly ordered fashion. The cave? If it was a cave, it was surprisingly clean. 

The man continued taking notes with fluid movements. “So there are accepted rules of conduct…” He mused as a spirit of curiosity floated close to him and then flickered into the shape of a small child that peered over his shoulder in a gesture of familiarity, then hugged the man's shoulder. The man returned the gesture easily, as if without thought, never taking his eyes off of his paper. “That implies there are more with the ability, or that there were once more. Is it a born trait, as one’s eye color? Or is it a skill that may be learned to varying degrees depending on one's innate talent?” 

“In theory, one could learn to shape their dreams, and possibly enter the dreams of others in the immediate area. But they would be limited.”

“In theory…” The man’s face lit up in earnest excitement. “That means experiments!” 

Solas was just about to answer when another figure entered the space, “Lugh, I have to figure out if the cleansing spells we’ve been using actually sanitizes the wound. If it doesn’t we’ve been hella lucky.”

Instantly the scene changed to another cave, this one lined with shelves and vials and another distillery. Lugh still held his notebook in his hand as he faced the image of his sister, who was rummaging through the contents of a small basket. “I will ask for some bone broth to be made for the sample dishes. I may need aid hunting a druffalo for the bone. But sister, we have a guest.”

The woman froze in her movements and Solas felt a slight prod of magic to his mind before it withdrew as if struck. “Mother- what are you doing here?”

Another dreamer? Or another who was just aware?

Lugh offered the notebook to her. “He was answering my questions on dreamers. He theorizes the ability can be taught in some small measure beyond the ability of birth. He has also neatly evaded my questions as to why he is here.” 

Ah, so the man was smarter than he originally let on. Good to know and make note of.

“He’s here because he is a nosy punk egghead.” The woman grumbled and turned her back on him, “Well, as long as you are here be useful and... and… son of a-” She trailed off and thunked her head against the cave wall. “There aren’t  _ jirms _ in the fade…” 

“Nay, but I still have questions.” Lugh said with a hopeful glance at him.

Aria radiated delight as she grinned at him. “Oh, you’re in for a treat, Eggy.”

Before he could ask what that meant, she left the dream, leaving him faced with the Avvar man, who was looking at him over his notebook, his writing tool poised. 

It was a long night.

The man was deeply curious and while his questions betrayed a certain depth of perception, there were… so many, and if Solas’ answer was not to his liking, it would spawn a dozen more questions until he felt he understood the answer. Solas enjoyed teaching and sharing knowledge, but he was… exhausted by the time Lugh woke. So many questions, leading to questions, leading to illustrations and experiments and- 

He had severely underestimated the pair. 

And as he woke with an odd tension headache, he realized that he had left the fade with far more questions than answers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C-L - “Hey let’s do a funny miss understanding with Cullen.”  
> A&F - *sets aside knitting and cracks their knuckles* “yes. Let’s.”
> 
> Two hours later
> 
> C-L - *Stares in horror and guilt at the screen* “What just happened?”  
> A&F - *grins unrepentantly* “Angst, beautiful angst.”


	5. Chapter 5

Cassandra did not know what to make of the barbarians. 

She did not know how they had heard of the Inquisition, or why they had come, or why they treated the Herald as if… she was one of them. Lavellan’s ease with them was cause for concern. 

Then there was the bathing, and the disgusted way they looked at the 'lowlanders' and the way they both washed their hands religiously, the woman going as far as to send a reminder to the room she shared with Lelianna and Josephine for them all to bathe before bed. The night she returned a basket of bathing items was left on each of their beds. 

But… their methods yielded results. Sickness had dropped and infections had dropped. She still felt it ridiculous the pair insisted any with a cough wear a mask or scarf, but… the idea of 'sick air' made sense in a way.

And Cullen had spoken of the barbarian woman making him rest and then the 'Incident' and the pairs unsettling reaction afterwards. Cullen didn't know what to make of it all, but Cassandra feared they were waiting till his guard had dropped before taking their revenge. She did not think the barbarians would allow a perceived attack on one of their women go unpunished. 

She wondered if it was best to get them both away from Cullen for a while. Harding was in need of scouts and Avvar were rumored to be exceptional hunters and according to Scout Harding, hunters made the best scouts. It seemed a perfectly valid plan. 

But of course when she brought this proposal up in the council meetings Lavellan instantly latched onto it and bent it the wrong way. “They can travel with us. Scout the way ahead?”

“That isn’t-”

“A great idea to have a pair of skilled hunters and warriors lead the way?” Lavellan asked with wide, innocent eyes. 

She didn’t know what to say to that, because even her… unfortunate skills at diplomacy were enough to know that stating the real reason would just upset her. “That…”

At seeing her floundering for words Josephine took pity on her. “Perhaps they would be of more use to Scout Harding, Herald? Having a healer of Lugh’s abilities for her and her men can only be beneficial.”

Lavellan looked crestfallen for a moment before rallying and grinning. “That’s true. It would be a shame if the person with the hand thing got wounded and didn’t have a healer nearby…” She rested her marked hand on the table casually and drummed her fingers. 

Cassandra conceded defeat. At least the pair would be safely away from the Commander until they were more certain of their motives. The Commander seemed to nearly sag in relief that the pair were not going to be staying in Haven and assured Lavellan that he would make the necessary arrangements. 

It was agreed upon that Lavellan should be the one to ask them to join them, as they had pledged their service to her and only seemed to take her word as law. Everything else was taken as suggestions and the pair had no qualms about standing their ground for any and everyone. Except the diminutive Herald. Josephine was determined to make it seem as evidence for the Herald’s ‘blessed’ status that she was able to bring in even the ‘Barbarians’ into their just cause. Lavellan was not shown this letter that was sent out to all the noble houses that questioned the Avvars’ presence.

Cassandra would worry about the guilt for concealing that bit of information later, they needed all of the support they could get now that the chantry had disavowed them. For now, the Commander would have a bit of distance from the barbarians while he recovered. 

Or… that was the plan. Cassandra was running through morning drills the next day when she heard it. 

“Godendwlid!” 

Cassandra was instantly on alert and moved around the troops’ tents to see the barbarian woman storming from Haven’s gates and towards the Commander, who looked frozen in place.

She made for them, intending to act as added defense against the barbarian mage, and drew close enough to hear the mage’s words as the woman pointed sharply at the Commander. “-And if you don’t, I will drop kick you into the next moon.”

“What is the meaning of this?” She had just threatened him, the Commander of the Inquisition, in front of witnesses.

“The meaning is a friendly warning. He has been doing better and I will not see my efforts undone by Lowlander stubbornness and ignorance.” 

Cullen was looking at the woman in baffled confusion. “Drop kick?”

The woman rolled her eyes and snagged a helmet from a passing recruit’s head, shushing their sputtering protest, and dropped the helm and snapped her foot out in a swift kick that sent the helmet soaring over seven tents before it dropped into the snow. “Drop kick. The words explain themself.” 

“That was a delicate kick, sister!” 

Cassandra heard the other barbarian shout from some distance and the woman again rolled her eyes and shouted back. “Aye, but I did not want the poor scout to be searching for his head covering all day.”

Cullen was clutching the paper the barbarian had shoved into his hands and he nodded, not looking directly at the woman. “I’ll see it done.” She had never seen him act as such. He was not a man easily cowed.

“Good man,” the woman smiled suddenly and lightly patted his shoulder. “Water, rest. Your blood will be your own.”

Cassandra shook her head and tried to refocus. “You threatened him.”

“Warned. There’s a slight difference. A threat is generally unwarranted, while a warning is more deserved in nature.” The woman laughed then looked at the scout who she had taken the helm from and was just standing there. “Ah… my apologies.” 

She surprised Cassandra by jogging over behind the tent and retrieving the helmet before handing it to the recruit. “Thank you for the lending of it.” 

The scout just blinked at her as she walked away and Cullen glared at the scout, seeming to find his wits as the barbarian left. “Well?”

The scout startled and saluted and hurried away. 

Cassandra waited until the onlookers, for the incident had drawn eyes, had returned to their duties before asking. “Is dealing with them always like this?”

Cullen actually huffed an exhausted laugh. “This was quite tame in comparison. They are very… certain they are right about how things should be.” 

“Tame? She kicked a helm over seven tents?” Cassandra gaped at him. 

Cullen sighed and rubbed his temples. “I did ask her what the phrase meant.” 

These were the people who would be traveling with them? Maker have mercy.

  
  
  
  


They were gold!

Varric could tell things had changed, you’d have to be blind not to notice. Haven looked like someone had taken a bar of soap to the whole town. And his money was on the twins… Twins! That had been a shock but apparently true if the ambassador's report was to be believed. Also, Lugh’s bafflement over how ‘small’ lowlanders were was because… Aria was considered tiny to the mountain people. 

Which was funny to think about. Also, Cullen’s half panicked expression whenever she looked at him was funny. ‘Godendwlid’. He had written a letter and had gotten a reply, and that was an interesting nickname for both siblings to be tossing at the poor man. 

Things were oddly clean, the healer’s tents were oddly empty, there were more buildings, and the giant man had promised ‘translated’ schematics. The pair had taken up residence in the old apothecary’s cottage and Varric slipped away from the Seeker’s watchful eye while Sky was causing trouble to go find him. Chuckles joined him on the way there, inclining his head but staying silent. He would bet a week’s royalties the elf was also taking advantage of Sky’s antics to nose around the quieter brother.

He frowned at the sign on the cabin and glanced at the lake. There was a circle melted into the ice, and while he hadn’t heard of anyone being dunked into the icy water, he did not want to be the first. For some reason he doubted the pair were prone to idle threats. He washed his hands in the basin set outside the door, and wrapped a handkerchief around his face, feeling ridiculous as he pushed the door open. At least Chuckles had done the same with a scarf he seemed to have worn for that purpose. 

Lugh was bent over the Herald as they stood in front of a table, his massive hands wrapped around her wrists as he gently guided her hands into a pair of dishes. They both had their faces covered, Lugh glanced up and nodded at them before continuing, refocusing on the Herald and the dishes. 

“This is what we call the ‘control’. It will allow us to see what manner of things are on the unwashed hand.” He pressed the tiny elf woman’s hands into the dishes and then allowed her to pull her fingers out and covered the dishes with clothes. “We will label them and keep them with the others.”

“What now?”

“Now we wash one hand with soap and water, and take another sample. With the other, we cast the cleansing spell.”

“Why both?”

“One is to show the effectiveness of an actual cleansing.” The man had pulled over a basin of water and was carefully washing the Herald’s hand in very, very careful detail and oddly gentle for such a big man. “The other will show us if the spells cleanse the flesh of disease, or if it only removes the visible filth.” 

“Will the mark change it?” She asked, watching the man work in fascination.

“We know not, which is why we have many sets of samples. If yours be different than the others, we will know your mark affects the magic. If such a thing be true, we will take note of it and pass the discovery on to those better versed in magic.”  The giant man jerked his chin towards Chuckles. “Probably to him as he is familiar with this sort of magic. Sky said he helped keep it from taking you.” 

Varric leaned against the door as he watched them and everything he was saying reminded him of the way Bianca would carefully document all of her experiments… though she was in a vastly different field, the same rules seemed to apply.

The Avvar cast a spell over her marked hand and pressed both of her hands into another pair of dishes and covered them with cloths, then fixed neat little labels onto them while the Herald rinsed her hands off. He pinned the last label into place before looking up. “Varric Tethras. I worked to translate the drawings you asked for. They lay on the shelf by the door. Your name be on them.”

“Huh.” He reached over and picked up the neat twine wrapped package of various drawings that at first glance were very exact and technical and very neatly labeled. Neat and clean, oddly enough, seemed to be a theme with the pair, and would make things much more simple than he had expected. “You’re a lot smarter than you pretend to be.”

The giant man levelled him with an amused look before writing in a notebook that was laying on the table of little dishes. “I have not pretended to be anything other than what I am. It lays on those who behold me to decide what to think of my manner.” 

That… was very pointed. The Herald was poking around some sort of contraption in fascination. 

“A common misconception of many.” Chuckles hummed, moving to peer at the little trays laid out on the table. 

The giant man gave him a decidedly amused glance. “Do not breathe directly upon them. Your air may taint the samples.” 

“People expect us to be dumb savages, so that’s what they see.” She lifted a scrawny shoulder in a shrug. 

“Aye. Though I half think Cassandra the Seeker believes we will murder you all in your beds. That, or that we are planning to kidnap both you and Commander Godendwlid the breath she turns her back upon us.” 

Varric couldn’t dispute that; the Seeker hadn’t been too thrilled over the Herald’s fascination with the siblings. She looked as if she tasted something sour when the kid asked Chuckles if he knew anything about their culture.

“Which is ridiculous.” The Herald huffed irritably.

“Aye. Can you imagine the amount of scrubbing it would take to rid all of the sheets of blood?” The giant man shook his head. “If we wished death to the Lowlanders, we would simply have allowed them to keep breeding in their own filth.” 

The Herald laughed, and then paused, her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t deny thinking of kidnapping us.”

Varric was shocked to see the man flush and duck his head. Solas looked decidedly amused by the question as well as the way Lugh stuttered. “I- I would not without- It is not a thing to be thinking of with the Lady wounded.” 

Interesting. Worthy of another letter. “Curly say anything about his scouts in the Fallow mire, yet?”’

“Aye. Our hold is peaceable with the hold within the swamps, but our contact is not overly close since my sister-” The man paused and shrugged. “We know of their Thane, but not of the goings on.” 

“So whatever they have in their small clothes that’s stirring them up isn’t extended to other holds?”

“Holds are separate from the other, Master Tethras, where one might war with those it considers weaker, others are decidedly peaceful.” Chuckles said, picking up the notebook from the table and leafing through it casually. Lugh made a soft tsking sound and plucked it from his hands and set it aside, making Lavellan snicker. 

“Aye. None of the other holds would be troubled by this one’s antics. Not that I know of.” Lugh shrugged and moved to cover everything on the table he had been working on with a cloth, then moved to a wash basin to wash his hands. “I would wager it is some young fool of a warrior trying for his Legend Mark. Should be a simple thing to put the whelp in their place. If they be seeking their mark, they cannot be seasoned.”

“Is a legend mark like my vallaslin?” The Herald asked and Varric noted the there and gone grimace Chuckles made. 

“Nay. We have a test for our coming of age. A Legend Mark is… how you are remembered.” he huffed a laugh as he dried his hands and pulled the mask from his face. “To be truthful, I never payed much mind to them. They are important to our people, but I earned mine so young it never gained much importance to my mind. I took my mother’s name because she had her Legend Mark, but beyond that...” He shrugged again. “It is but a different set of words to introduce myself with.” 

The Herald frowned slightly, “But what about your history? Your culture? If you do not care for your traditions aren’t you afraid of losing it?”

“I live with my history, and I am of my culture. Our stories are shared between our peoples. The gods carry on our memories if it be important, and our traditions are taught to our children. But I have no need to seek to be remembered. I have sewn together too many young things who tried too hard to find greatness and instead found themselves broken on another’s ax.” The man pointed at her. “And I wager that whoever took your people is one such.” 

The herald looked down and frowned in confusion, “Your gods?”

“Spirits, Herald.” Chuckled sighed, he looked suddenly very tired.

“Aye, and nay. We have our gods, and that which you call spirits are considered by my people to be aspects of the gods. It is...” The man paused in thought. “As a flock of birds. There is the flock, and of the flock, there are birds, but yet they are one and the same, yet without one there is not the other. There is also the matter of definitions differing between peoples.” 

“Wait, what do you mean by definitions?” The Herald’s brow crinkled in confusion.

Lugh shrugged. “What is a god? Is it the substance that holds the dreaming from the physical? We call it the Lady, another calls it the Veil. Is it a Legend that walks? By that mark both you and my sister are gods. Is it a story, kept and tended through generations? Is it a being that answers prayers? Then a spirit is such. Is it a piece of history that walks among the living? Then Tyrdda would be a god. There are many words, and few certainties.”

This was so far out of his alley of expertise he felt a little dizzy, but Chuckles probably had a few things that he could add… only the mage suddenly looked paler than usual. “Tyrdda?” The question came out oddly quiet before he added. “Bright Axe?” 

Lugh cocked his head at Solas. “Aye. Tis said that the Lady saw fit to return her soul to the physical and she walks among us, bringing wisdom and knowledge lost to time. And fire. She does love fire.” 

“How would you know that?” Varric was careful to keep an eye on the way the elf’s posture stiffened and his hands clenched then opened as he slipped into a more relaxed posture and folded them behind his back.

The Avvar man shrugged. “Bright Axe is… technically correct, but the true translation would be-”

“Fire Staff.” Chuckles murmured, his voice had a far away tone to it and his gaze stretched for miles beyond the point where it was fixed. 

“You believe your ancestor was, or is, immortal?” The Herald asked.

“Nay.” Lugh laughed. “Mortal, but reborn. Not everyone… but a few, those the gods deem worthy.” 

“But if they are reborn, how do you know who’s who? Couldn’t someone just claim something?” The Herald asked suddenly, looking like a curious child next to the giant. “How would you tell?”

“We don’t. Mostly. Most of the reborn simply… are reborn, babes again, new lives. Their past does not matter beyond the fact it brought them to the present again. Tyrdda… was different. Some of her memories remained, and I have been often told the fact caused her second parents no end of grief.” 

“Who-“ Chuckles seemed to have snapped out of his trance like stare. “Who claims such a thing?”

“Who claims to be Tyrdda? Or who claims that she walks among us?” The giant man cocked his head again. 

Chuckles opened his mouth then closed it with a frustrated shake of his head. “Both. Humans… mortal souls do not ‘come back’ there is no ‘rebirth’.”

Varric blinked in surprise at the conviction in the elf’s tone. He took the man more as a quiet, ‘if those are your beliefs I will respect them, but I disagree respectfully’ sort of guy. 

“Because I have seen one whose eyes were much older than their form seemed to be and heard them speak of things beyond the ken of the child their body seemed. She had an adorable lisp.” Lugh shrugged. “But what do I know of beings older than they seem? She was three winters when she demanded she be called an old name, and could often be found arguing with the elders over the way things should be ere her milk teeth fell out.” 

Chuckles jaw clenched and he looked down thoughtfully. ”I see…” which more than likely meant that he didn’t. “Fascinating. But if you will excuse me I must take my leave.” Chuckles said, inclining his head. “Another time, Lugh. Herald. Tethras.”

Oh, ho! no ‘Master’ tagged at the beginning? Something got under his skin if he wasn’t in the state of mind to keep up his own joke. 

“Aye. I still have questions if you be willing to answer.” Lugh lifted his hand in a farewell gesture. “Ehspeshahlee ahbowt the’eyez, ohld wun.” 

Chuckles paused and looked at him with an unreadable expression before inclining his head. “I look forward to it.” And with that he was gone.

“Does it feel like they just had an entire conversation without saying exactly what they meant?” The Herald stage whispered to him. 

Yes. Yes it did.

  
  
  
  
  


“Your brother claims to have met the reincarnation of Tyrdda Bright Axe.” He dropped all pretense of casualness.

The Avvar woman snorted her drink out her nose and coughed, choking on her air for quite some time before looking at him with her eyebrows raised and her face red. “Oh?” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “My brother? Really?” Her tone seamlessly switched from surprised to sarcastic.

Perhaps he should have led off more subtly… less absurd. Definitely should have waited until they were not in the tavern. “He was explaining some of your people’s beliefs to the Herald and the subject came up.”

She just made an inquisitive noise in her throat and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Have you met the supposed reborn? It must have been… interesting.”

She cleared her throat again. “I have never met her, no. Was probably just a… mistranslation on his part. He was three and still chewing on everything within reach at the time.

Three. The Avvar had said he had met the supposed reborn when she was three. Odd the same number was said in different conversations. “Where were you?”

“At the time? I had no idea… three is not a reliable age for memories.” She then paused. “I was told I was trying to wrestle an uncured hide from him.” She grimaced, then shrugged. “Why the sudden interest in barbarian superstition?” 

“History is a pastime of mine.” He said, sliding into the seat across from here

Her mouth worked like she was trying not to smirk. “Eyed beht.” She cleared her throat again and the near smirk vanished. “But my brother is more versed in our people’s history than I. My interest lays more in science.” 

He thanked Flissa when she set a tankard in front of him and, though he had not ordered anything, he was pleased to note that the cup and the woman’s hand both looked to be scrubbed thoroughly. “He seemed… certain. He also said a phrase I was hoping you would be willing to translate for me.”

“Godendwlid means ‘good to look upon’.”

He blinked, then laughed. “Ah. Thank you, but that is not what I wished to know.” 

She shrugged and rolled her hand and he carefully repeated the phrase her brother had said. The syllables meant nothing to him, but her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand again before groaning. “Uhv cah’orss heed nohtiss... Are uh… are you sure you want me to translate that?” 

“Is it insulting?”

“Um.” She hesitated, which meant yes. “Not exactly. Not to him, anyway.” She frowned. “ Uh, what context was it in?”

“He said that he had questions if I was willing.” He supplied and when she pressed her lips together and looked thoughtful he added. “Indulge me.” 

“He commented on your eyes and called you... experienced.” She grimaced, then added. “Probably would not turn you down if you wanted a tumble in the furs.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled sharply. “If you- Not in the cabin? Please? I sleep there.”

Somehow he did not believe her, although he could sense no lie in her words. A proposition was not heard in the tone of Lugh’s words. Curiosity, but no innuendo. And Lugh had shown himself very good at reading people, and he was aware that he had hidden his reaction to the man’s claims quite poorly, and Solas doubted he would extend intent if he had sensed his distress. It was more likely that the Avvar woman was trying to distract him from the subject. “What are your thoughts on Tyrdda Bright Axe?” 

She started tapping the tips of her fingers as if counting on them. “She was Avvar, a fire mage, had a spirit lover that took the shape of an elf, something about the golden city… Seriously, Lugh has the story memorized. History is not my specialty.” She finished her drink and stood. “Look at the past behind you too often and you will not see the future ahead.” She gave him a small smile and left him at the table, handing Flissa a coin on her way out the door. 

Solas frowned at the table's surface and his untouched drink. She gave him facts but not opinions. The woman spoke as if she was raised in court. Nothing to pin down, not a thing to hold her. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You are not seriously taking that… creature, are you?” Cassandra said with a disturbed warble to her voice as Sky led ‘Charlie’ out of the paddock and began fussing with his tack.

“Aye, I am.” Sky confirmed as she adjusted the halter reins she used for the… well, it wasn’t a horse. “I would not leave an oath bound.” 

“You may use my mount, Cassandra the Seeker.” Lugh said, as if that was the problem.

Varric was very, very certain he was playing up the earnest obliviousness for her benefit. “That would leave you walking, Soaps… nah, not right.” He had been struggling to find something to suit the Avvar and since Sky refused one he was determined to find just the right one for her brother.

“Walking is no trouble.” The man shrugged. “And it is easier on the horse for a lowlander to ride than I.” 

The Herald worried her lip between her teeth, “Watch towers should be completed soon, then we should be about to get you a horse… a bigger horse.”

“I do not think they breed horses that large down here. There is a certain… Delicateness to lowlanders.” Lugh grinned and the Herald stuck her tongue out at him.

“Surely you can use a different mount.” The Seeker asked, not seeming to hear any of the conversation as her eyes had not left ‘Charlie’.

“No.” Sky gave her a bright smile and swung onto the… should be dead horse… seriously, it had a sword through its head. 

“An interesting choice of mount.” Chuckles said mildly but his eyes were smiling as if he knew something nobody else knew.

“It likes me.” Sky shrugged. “At least it is better than a bear.”

“Aye… I should have asked Storvacker to accompany us. She often allowed us to ride on her back.” Lugh’s eyes were flicking between Chuckles and the Seeker with very blatant amusement.

“And then slobbered all over our faces and made us have to bathe the stench of carnivore breath from us.” Sky did a little shiver with a disgusted sound. 

“You had a pet bear?” The Herald asked in an awed yet excited way.

“Not a pet so much as…” Lugh paused and then shrugged. “In a way, yes. she belongs to the hold and the hold to her.”

Sky snorted and leaned her hands against ‘Charlie’s’ neck. “Despite a tendency to bathe you in slobber, she would have been a boon. Bears are fierce warriors.”

"Only when threatened." Lugh protested as he reached over to readjust the Herald’s armor. "They take excellent care of their young and are great foragers."

Perfect! “You're certain you’re alright walking, Bear?” Yup! That was the one.

"Aye. My legs be near as long as the horses." The man gave him an amused glance but seemed to accept the name.

"You're like a walking mountain." Herald said, sidling up to measure herself against him. She was barely to his arm pits.

Sky snickered, “You look like a child next to him.”

"Nah, he looks like a shaved bear next to me." She shot back, then yelped when Lugh picked her up and set her on his shoulder. Cassandra half looked like she was going to draw her sword on him.

"Put her down!" 

“Seeker, whatever kink in your armor you have that is making you horrible company, I do suggest you oil it and relax.” Sky sighed and jerked her chin toward Bear and the Herald. “She is fine.”

"I can see the future from here." The Herald declared, clearly making herself comfortable on his shoulders. 

"Aye? What do you see in the future?" Bear looked delighted. 

"Singing."

"Oh no." Chuckles murmured.

Sky raised an eyebrow, “she can be no worse than my brother.”

"Oh, her voice is great." Varric laughed and huffed as he pulled himself up onto the horse he was given. "She just… doesn't run out of breath."

"Truly a great skill for a woman to have." Sky said solemnly, then burst into laughter at Bear's strangled, "Sky!"

This was going to be great!

  
  
  
  


“Seventy-seven bottles of ale on the wall, seventy-seven bottles of ale! Take one down, pass it around, seventy-six bottles of ale on the wall.” 

Cassandra was going to strangle the Herald and the barbarian man. They did not have enough horses for everyone, so the man had volunteered to walk, and the Herald somehow ended up riding on his shoulders, and then… they began to sing… and sing.

She had subtly tried to speed their pace to make the barbarian need his breath for walking, but even with the Herald on his shoulders he seemed unphased by the effort.

She was nearly at her breaking point by the time they stopped the horses to rest and they insisted everyone wash their hands before they ate their dry rations. Her hands were perfectly clean, she would have noticed if they were caked in mud. The Apostate, Solas, was already pulling a bar of lye soup from his pack and kneeling by the stream and Varric sighed and joined him with minimal grumbling. 

She couldn’t decide if it was a religious thing for them or some way to mock her. ‘The Barbarians were cleaner than her.’ No matter the reasons she could not very well decline without causing a scene. Cullen had warned her to simply go along with their requests. 

It took an extraordinary effort not to say anything when the Barbarians sat on a rock to eat and the Herald practically squeezed herself between the two of them. The woman huffed a laugh as she was forced to scoot over slightly but other than that neither of them seemed to mind. Well… at least if they were eating, they were not singing… a small mercy the two Avvar seemed to have some manners. 

“So, Bear.” Varric directed his attention on the man after they had finished their meal. “Are you really planning on kidnapping Curly and the Herald?”

WHAT? The only thing that kept her from leaping to snatch the Herald away from the pair was Varric’s shit eating grin. He was up to something.

The Avvar woman startled and eyed her brother. “Both of them?”

The man looked panicked for a moment before shrugging. “Why not? They are both fair and strong.” 

The woman snorted and smirked. “Stah’men ah.”

What did their appearance have to do with it? “You are not kidnapping anyone.”

“Not at the moment, no.” The man conceded. “The Lady needs healing.”

“I am surprised I am not on that list.” Solas asked, unphased at the open discussion of abduction of the Herald, actually joining in with the madness.

Lugh blinked and looked the mage over before shrugging. “You could be, though I doubt the avvar ways would agree with you.” 

Solas raised an eyebrow at him but before he could say anything the woman choked on her waterskin and looked at the man in mock shock.

“Three? Now that’s just greedy, brother. I rather like Godendwlid as well!”

“He’s half terrified of you.” The man pointed out, then raised his hands. “It would be how long the knots held as it were.” 

The woman laughed and tilted her head as if conceding to him. “I think he’d make quick work of them… that one as well.” She jerked her chin toward Solas. 

Lugh looked him over again and then nodded. “Aye. He has the fingers for it.” 

They were openly discussing abducting people, and the others were just… watching. Solas actually looked amused at the pair discussing how quickly he could escape binds. Varric, the infuriating man, was grinning at her.

“If I don’t have to step into the war room again you can kidnap me anytime you want.” The Herald proclaimed with a delighted grin, “You won’t even need rope.”

Lugh flushed and gave the Herald a very solemn expression. “You honor me, but if I were to take you it would be in the proper manner.” 

“Yeah, the rope is half the fun.” Aria protested, reaching out to nudge the man’s arm with a grin.

Maker! 

  
  
  
  


Cullen had thought that perhaps some distance between himself and the Avvar would help him… get his head in order. He had been relieved when Cassandra had managed to get them out of Haven, to give him space to set himself to rights away from the woman’s smirks and shouted compliments and the man’s… unsettling knowing smile and also the earnest compliments.

She had given him a list of things she wanted done during her absence, including making sure the basins were regularly cleaned and that the troops were encouraged to bathe, and he did his best. To be honest, he had seen the results of the Avvar’s strange rules of cleanliness. The sweeping sicknesses that were due course when one gathered so many people into close quarters like an army barracks were all but completely absent, and the few bouts of sickness that did appear were quickly ‘quarantined’ and it spread no further. 

So following her requests had been a simple enough matter, except for at the bottom of the paper…

‘Drink a pitcher of boiled water a day and sleep at least four hours a day’. 

The little note was for him, her manner of helping him ‘reclaim his blood’. 

It was… an oddly thoughtful gesture, though still delivered in her infuriating and assured manner.

But he had done his best to comply, not knowing if she had some way of knowing if he did not. The refugee children were all firmly in Lugh’s pocket as it were. 

He had not wanted to rest, even with his head pounding. He had wanted to keep working, to go over the rest of the reports and letters and- but four hours. Four hours was not too long a time to rest. So he had gone to his bed in the cabin that the pair had built for him, and when he pulled back the blanket, he found a slip of paper written in the Avvar’s oddly slanted writing.

‘ _ Cullen. If you found this it means you are going to rest, and I am proud of you!’ _

It was… The weak part of him so eager to please warmed and flared and then he frowned at the paper. Why had she been in his room? He glanced around and found that there was a tray on the little table set up in the cabin with water and a cold sandwich, and another note. 

_ ‘I paid the cooks to make sure you have food each evening. Try to eat if you can stomach it. _ ’ 

He ended up turning the cabin on end, searching through the scant furnishings and belongings until he was sitting on his bed with an entire handful of little scraps of paper, each one written on in her neat hand. Each of them contained praise for taking care of himself, or suggestions, or- this one was a joke, another a recommendation of books to read.

There was a vial of some sort of oil she had left by his bed with instructions. It smelled strongly of mint and some other sharp herb and she claimed it would help ease his headaches.

The… the effort she had gone to in order to assure that he was in good health during her absence was... staggering. She must have been planning this since she received word she would be leaving, composing notes and setting things in place… She had been… concerned about leaving him be. 

But… why? It made no sense.

  
  
  
  
  


Her dreaming mind was a difficult thing to ignore in such close proximity. He resisted, going only to Lugh’s once, which resulted in a night of questioning, earnest and excellent questions but rather than awakening refreshed he felt exhausted. An exhaustion that only deepened as he tried to ignore Aria’s dreams and then began to feel the tentative but persistent fumbling tugs on the fade as Lugh began putting some of the theory into practice and began to try and wrest control of his dreams. 

Traveling with them had been enlightening, they were considerate travel companions, pointing out obstacles, providing stories and songs, making sure the camps were clean and tended. The pair were also very comfortable with their magic, conjuring fires and lights and even using a combination of fire and ice spells to boil water to refill drinking skins. On the occasions Aria was pulled into a conversation that interested her, she would absently conjure a flicker of flame and wind it around her fingers like a ribbon. 

The ease of which they were showing their talent made him wonder if the Avvar had remained much the same in their views of mages and magic. The Seeker seemed at a loss for words when Lugh reached over and drew a cooling glyph on the side of her water skin. He did the same with everyone’s waterskin.

On one evening that they had run into bandits on the road and had seen signs of more, they cast heating glyphs on a rock and used it to cook in lue of a fire that might draw attention.

Lugh’s words of Tyrdda bothered him more than he liked to admit. The thought that she could be… reborn? It was a foolish notion. One made by mortals to make the loss easier to bear. One he could not give any credence to.

But then why had he sought out spirits for answers that same night? The spirits he called seemed reluctant to speak of Tyrdda and those that did spoke in riddles. A spirit of Patience directed him to a spirit of Hope, Hope to Faith and finally to a spirit of Knowledge that only smiled at him and would not say more than, ‘they were an angry child.’ It frustrated him that he could not press for more information without risking twisting the spirit's nature. 

Why did it frustrate him so? Mortals did not return to the physical. There was no rebirth of their souls… that was what made them mortals, their spirits did not linger. He said as much to Wisdom who sat and listened patiently as he paced. 

“If it can be for a spirit why can it not be for them?” She asked simply. And the words gave him pause. 

Spirits could disintegrate, reabsorbed and lingering in the fade until they reformed into… something new. Different, parts and memories missing, but still a part of the original. 

The Avvar siblings knew more. Lugh sounded certain of his claim, and Aria… had given him nothing. Her answers were non answers and careful truths. 

Wisdom tilted her head and asked. “Do you fear being wrong and Tyrdda being out there? Out of reach? Or do you fear being right and Tyrdda being gone forever?” 

“Yes,” Wisdom knew him too well for him to attempt dodging or redirecting the question. 

Tyrdda had been his first contact with the shadows of this world. A curious young mage who dreamed close to his resting place. She had been a curiosity, his first interaction with anyone other than Wisdom for a long time. He had not realized how long he had remained in uthenera until she informed him of the state of the world. And in his grief over the world's losses, she had comforted him. She became a dear friend, someone who was always willing to listen, to give him comfort. She became more… a life line. But… he had not realized her mortality. The very thought foreign. 

“I made my peace long ago.” He sighed and sat on the grass, leaning back to look up at the night sky Wisdom favored in her pocket of the fade.

“And the boy’s certainty threatens that peace.” Wisdom shifted and suddenly his head was resting in her lap as a mother might comfort a child. “Is it so wrong to hope, old friend?”

Yes. 

Yes it was. 

  
  
  
  


Val Royeaux… the grand towers that Helsdim described from his trade trips… they fell short in Lugh’s eyes. He could tell the Lowlanders were watching for his and Aria’s reactions to the ‘glittering city’ but his first thought was…

“It smells of Lowlander.” He muttered, sidestepping a suspicious puddle on the white stone and pulling his scarf over his face. The buildings were grand, impressive feats of engineering. And covered in shit. Truly, it was a waste of effort to try and create something grand and beautiful only to piss all over it. 

“I can’t tell if the perfume helps or makes it worse.” Sky muttered and pulled her scarf over her mouth and nose as they walked near a small group of gasping lowlanders dressed in so many colors it was like trying to focus on the Lady’s Sighs. Lugh frowned at the small, smelly people. Their breathing sounded halted. “Are they well?”

“It’s a ‘fainting spell’ or something equally ridiculous and fashionable.” Varric mumbled and pasted a smile on his face. 

‘Fashionable’. To fashion was to create, able was the suffix added to make an idea of a word. Or perhaps it was the other meaning. Fashion as in one’s manner. That one made more sense. One of the lowlanders let out a whimpering sigh and slumped to the ground as they drew near and Lugh’s first thought was that the edge of their… clothing had fallen into one of the suspicious puddles. Aria put her hand on his arm and murmured in their twin’s tongue. “ _ Tis but an act. They are well. _ ” 

“The inn the ambassador secured for us should be up ahead.” The Seeker pointed down another turn in the cobblestone alley, side stepping the nobles as if they were not there and leading on. 

Varric cracked his neck joints and sighed. “It will be nice to sleep in a bed.”

“If there be not fleas.” Lugh couldn’t help but mutter. 

Sky visibly shuddered, “I am bringing my bedroll in. I do not trust it.”

“I should have packed the mint oil.”

“We’re out.” 

Lugh frowned, “There was-“

“ _ Pretty boy has headaches _ .” She said in their Twin tongue, then shrugged, switching back to common. “It seemed a good idea at the time and now I will be contending with fleas and bed bugs.” 

Ah. “If it will help, it is a good thing. I will make more on our return. For now, we can simply use the lightning barrier we used to cure Storvacker of her last affliction.” 

Solas said something to Varric about the markets in the past and Lugh eyed him thoughtfully. The man was much older than he pretended. He had the same… distance in his eyes that Aria did. As well as the same habit of edging around his own words as if they laid a trap at his own feet. 

The Inn was a grand one and the moment they entered he had the sudden feeling of being far too large. He had to duck his head through the doorways and the furniture was delicate as a gilded spider’s legs. There was a gilt chandelier that hung low enough that he had to walk around it or duck to avoid hitting his head on it. 

Elves dashed over and he was suddenly being assaulted by a brush of some sort, he tried to wave them away but the elven women seemed determined in their task.

“Poke me once more with that and I’ll feed it to you.“ Sky growled, snatching the brush away from her shoulder and tossing it onto one of the small chairs. Then immediately froze when the elven woman bowed hastily with murmured apologies. “ _ Awe, fuck. _ ” 

“Sky, peace.” He chastised her. They were doing no harm and the others seemed resigned to the same treatment. 

Sky closed her eyes and then dug into her pocket and then pressed a coin into the woman’s hand. “Here, for uh… never doing that to me again.”

The elven woman’s eyes widened and she bowed and let out a string of words too fast for him to catch their meaning, and backed away, still bowing. Varric laughed and reached out as if to clap Sky on the arm, then pulled his hand away as if thinking better of it. “Oh, this is going to be a very fun trip.” 

Sky glared at him. “You have been saying that since we began to pack.” 

“And it has remained true.” 

  
  
  
  


Raj was completely and utterly fascinated with the twins. They made travelling so much more fun and setting up camp was easier, and Lugh and Aria both were willing to answer any and all of her questions, even the ‘silly’ ones like where the wind came from and did trees breathe. They were unimpressed with the shemlen city and the fact was… comforting. They were just as out of place as she was. She was sharing a room with them. Not that the Seeker knew that, as far as the Seeker knew she was staying in her own room, but the thought of sleeping alone in the strange shemlen city was terrifying. Varric and Solas were sharing a room, Lugh and Aria were sharing a room, and she and Cassandra were supposed to have their own rooms. Raj wasn’t sure how that was fair, but she wasn’t paying for it. 

Also, the way that Cassandra had glared down the innkeeper when he started to say something made her think that perhaps her having her own room was one of those ‘appearances’ things. But she didn’t want to sleep alone in a city of shemlen. 

So she waited until she heard the Seeker’s door close and slipped out of her room. Solas paused from where he was entering the room he was sharing with Varric and quirked an eyebrow at her but simply nodded and closed the door behind him. She felt remarkably like a da’len who had been caught sneaking out of the aravel.

But she went to the twin’s door and knocked timidly. There was a long silence and her heart dropped in anxiety. What if they didn’t want another in their room? What if seeing how the other shemlen saw elves made them change how they treated her? What if-?

The door opened and Aria glanced down at her before smiling and stepping aside so she could slip into the room. “Come.” She whispered. “Compliment my brother, he is most proud of this trick and two coppers his ears turns an adorable shade of pink when you do.” 

Lugh was kneeling on the ground, his brow furrowed in concentration as he conjured a soft, floating light and set it into place in the center of the room. He scooted back and she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as he cast something carefully. Finally he let out a soft breath and sat back on his heels. “There. That should reduce the number of bites we gather.” 

“What is it?” She moved to stand next to him and squinted in the ‘just right’ way that made magic shimmer in her eyes. It was a glyph of some sort.

“The light draws the insects to it, and the mark is one of lightning, mild so it will not harm us if we stumble into it in the night, but it will kill the vermin.”

“That… is genius!” The compliment was pulled from her honestly.

His ears flushed pink and she couldn’t help but giggle. He was so easily flustered, it was a little adorable. And odd, as he could make jokes about sex with a perfectly straight face. He had waved off Cassandra’s protests about her riding on his shoulders with a comment about there being ‘no better way to pass a day than with my head between a woman’s legs’, but then would blush if she gave him a simple compliment. 

Aria slapped her shoulder lightly with a smug look, “You can pay me later.”

Lugh sighed as he hefted himself to his feet and moved to shake out the blankets on the massive bed. “I do not think it is fair for you to make bets, Sky Touched.” 

Aria shrugged, “I have to make my coin back somehow.”

There was a tiny spark on the floor in front of him and as one, both Aria and Lugh’s noses wrinkled. “Ew.” 


	7. Chapter 7

“Well. That… went.” Varric said. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but there was a dead noble with an arrow through his face, the templars had punched a chantry mother, and they had just had to fight a bunch of guys with no breeches, and now Herald was talking with an elf that just screamed Trouble. 

Aria snorted and kicked the noble’s, who they still did not have a name for, foot. “Yes, it definitely did.”

Varric sighed and retrieved some of his bolts that were still usable as the elf, Sera Red Jenny, walked up to Lugh and tilted her head way back, her mouth falling open. “Piss, you’re a tall one.” 

Lugh nodded and tilted his head, “Did you use a knife?”

The elf, Sera leaned back and scrunched her nose. “Wot?”

“Your hair.”

“Oh. No, arrow.”

Lugh seemed to consider that for a long moment before nodding. “That took patience.” 

“Took for-bloody-ever is what it did. Does the air smell different way up there?” 

This party just got a whole lot more interesting. 

  
  
  
  


Solas was wary at the thought of the twins in an Orlesian chateau. It was so far removed from their mountain home and he was certain this ‘Madame De Fer’ was going to delight in picking apart their every mannerism. 

The woman’s face had remained utterly impassive when Raj had walked into the building with Lugh looming over her shoulder, though her blink when he ducked through the door had been rather telling. Lugh glanced around, and sighed wearily. Solas would wager it was due to the lack of wash basin. The twins seemed to deem a wash basin at every entrance way the sign of civilization. 

“Welcome, my dear.” The Madame greeted the Herald with a well practiced smile. “I do hope you enjoy the delicacies that have been selected this morning. The cook once served in the empress’ palace for three years.”

And thus the ancient pattern began, the enchanter was playing host to the Herald showering her with attention, while giving due acknowledgement to the Seeker. The rest of them seemed to fade from her sight as she led them to a finely set table. 

They were guided to their places and Lugh hesitated at the intricately carved chair, turning to speak to the elven servant who was trying to get him to sit. “I will break it if I sit. Tis too delicate.” 

The Enchantress raised an eyebrow and seemed to take in his considerable size. “Fetch the Herald’s… companion a sturdier seat, dear.” The servant bowed and scurried away. The woman took her seat, not waiting for the seat to be brought, a statement without words. She did not see him as someone who the basic rules of etiquette applied to. 

When the chair was brought, though large enough for it not to collapse under Lugh’s weight, it was a ridiculous looking thing, with plumes of brightly colored feathers sticking out from the back. Lugh seemed incredibly amused by the thing, taking a cautious seat and murmuring in Alamarri to his sister. Though his Alamarri was rusty, he caught the jab. “These lowlanders seem to prefer color to sense.” 

“You expected differently?” Aria sighed and took her seat, having remained standing until her brother's seat was brought. 

The meal was… artful, but there was truly nothing served that was appealing save the fruits. He did not envy the Herald, who was expected to comment on each dish and course, and thus had to taste each one. The thing with the mushrooms was particularly vile, though beautifully presented. 

At one point Aria had taken a bite of one of the tarts And immediately spit it back out into her napkin. “It that-? Who puts death root into a pastry?”

“It is supposed to enhance the palate, my-”

“Death root is good for purging livestock of worms and for crafting poisons. Not for flavor.” Aria set the tart down and shoved her plate away. “Improperly cured and processed it will cause your heart to stop beating.”

Lugh was a little more subtle in pushing the tart to the side of his plate, though less subtle when he caught the Herald’s eye and pointed at it and shook his head. 

The Enchantress looked Aria over as if for the first time, taking in her warrior braids and furs that the Seeker had not been able to convince her or Lugh to forgo during their stay. “A deathroot and blood lotus rinse is an effective cure against lice.” 

Aria blinked at her as if she had said something incredibly foolish. “Rinse… not consume. And if it worked half as well as you say, I dare say you would have retained your hair… Madame.”

The Herald covered her mouth with her hand to try and hide her laugh but the Seeker looked horrified. Varric was very subtly jotting down notes in the pad in his lap. 

The Enchantress kept her expression placid but her hand tightened slightly on her fork. “Are you an… apothecary?” 

Aria smiled sharply and leaned back in her seat. “Advanced alchemist, scholar, scientist, mage, warrior....” She waved her hand. “Ah, there is too much to list.” 

Instantly the enchantress's eyes narrowed, “My dear, I had no idea you traveled with apostate Barbarians.” She directed at the herald. “You must be terrified of one of them falling prey to demons, not having the proper training the Circle provides.”

A slight, angry crease appeared between the Herald’s brows. “I may not be a mage, but from what I’ve observed, their magical knowledge is much, much better than the circle mages we have in the Inquisition.” 

The enchantress laughed as if she had just told a terrible joke. “Well hopefully having a trained enchanter at your back will change your mind on that, dear.”

Lugh tilted his head with a slightly perplexed expression before shrugging and turning his attention back to the melon on his plate. 

“Something on your mind there?” Varric asked.

“Nothing of importance.” 

“I’m sure.” Vivienne murmured delicately.

Lugh made the same perplexed expression again. “Twas only… when I first saw you, I thought you passing beautiful. But every time you speak, I find you less so.”

Aria did not even try to cover her snort, and reached over to pat her brother's arm. “Eye Rayzzd ‘em rite.” and grinned triumphantly at the enchantress's carefully blank expression. 

The Seeker at that point dropped her head into her hands, muttering something about ‘leaving them at the inn’. 

By the time they were ready to leave with the promise from Lady Vivienne that she would be ready to leave early the next morning, Varric had a very self satisfied twinkle in his eye as he chuckled and tucked his book into his duster pocket. “Oh, this trip is going to be fun.” 

If by fun, he meant watching two people considered barbarians tear apart a nobles way of thinking? Then yes, Solas quite agreed with him. 

  
  
  


“Wait, why does Her LadyBits get to ride on his shoulders and I get stuck with a horse?” Sera complained as the barbarian man hefted the Herald onto his shoulders.

Vivienne was finding it exceedingly difficult to stay true to her training. She truly did not understand the Herald’s obsession with the barbarian pair. True the man was fair to look at in a rugged, exotic sort of way, but… she did not understand. She could explain the uncouth ‘Red Jenny’s presence for her connections, but the barbarians were just… a liability. Untrained, unharrowed, uncivilized apostates with no connections, no part in the game, no… anything besides a pair of pretty faces and axes. 

And the woman. Aria, they called her. The woman rode an abomination. An undead beast, a demon in a corpse she named and petted and refused to part with. This did not look good at all. Neither did the… Quite frankly ridiculously flippant way the pair used their magic. It seemed hardly a handful of heartbeats went by without one of them casting some spell.

The woman went so far as idly twirling fire round her fingers as she flipped through a pieced together book. Some of the pages looked to be made of preserved leaves. The man was speaking slowly of some ridiculous ‘theory’ of how plants transformed sunlight into food when they stopped to rest the horses and eat lunch, and Vivienne was baffled when he set a pan on the ground and filled it with conjured ice that the woman melted without even looking at it. As one, the rest of the Herald’s companions began using the water to wash their hands.

The Red Jenny wrinkled her nose. “Wots that for?”

“It keeps you from bringing disease into your food.” The Herald said as she slid off of the barbarian’s back to wash her own hands. “Sounds silly, but there’s like… science and stuff.” 

The city elf glanced at her and then shrugged and moved to wash her hands with the others. “Well, if prissy britches isn’t doing it, it must be alright.” 

“I am in court, dear. I am cleaner than most.”

“Oh?” The woman glanced up from her ‘book’ and arched an eyebrow. “Pray tell.”

“I can bathe at least once a week, darling. I have the means to.” Really, the woman was insufferable, but then what could one expect of someone raised away from civilization?

“Oh! Once a week! Did you hear that, sister!? She does not smell one day out of seven!” The barbarian man  _ laughed _ . 

The woman’s nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something particularly foul and closed the book delicately. “Congratulations you get your own tent. Lugh, I am placing my bedroll in your tent tonight.”

She felt oddly insulted. “And I’m sure you are the model of cleanliness, able to bathe in what… the mud of the road?”

The barbarian man raised his eyebrows and then… conjured a ball of ice that he then melted in the hollow of his hand. “Truly difficult to find clean, untainted water… Impossible. I wonder how any could manage…” 

“What are we eating for the midday deal?” The Seeker asked in placating desperation and the Dwarf, Varric Tethras, a renowned author, chortled.

“Not poison I would hope.” The woman grumbled as she pushed to her feet and also washed her hands and looked at her rather pointedly as she lathered the soap up to her elbows.

This was going to be a long trip.

  
  
  
  


Raj did not like the shemlen mage. She was stuffy and rude and she kept insulting the twins. And Sera. and she was pretty sure she had insulted her as well…

She knew the Inquisition needed the woman’s connections, but maybe… maybe when they got to Haven she could have Josephine and Leliana deal with her. Of course, that would have to wait because a harried scout had caught up to them and informed her that the scouts in the Fallowmire were missing, and that the Avvar in the area were believed to have taken them. Lugh had let out a longsuffering sigh and shook his head. “Whelps. I’d wager one of the gold coins on it.” 

“Fuhk’ehn suhn uhv’uh-“ Aria groaned and slumped against Charlie’s neck. “Fuhk’ehn Playg, Fuhk’ehn Zahmbeez.”

So they had headed directly for the area,  (after sending Sera ahead to Haven because Raj was mostly certain the elf was planning on murdering Vivienne), meeting briefly with Harding after a frantic trip there. Raj didn’t want to risk the scouts being ‘disposed’ of as Vivienne so delicately suggested they might be. Aria had let out an actual moan of despair when Harding mentioned the plague.

“I swear, if I find whoever is keeping their people in a  _ plagued _ area, I’m going to box their ears. Maybe murder them.” 

Lugh patted her shoulder in a comforting gesture, then wrapped his scarf around his face, Aria had been wearing hers the last two days. “I would suggest you cover your face, the water and air will be tainted.” 

They began to trudge through the swamp and Raj was damp and uncomfortable and everything stank. They would pass abandoned houses and Aria would light them on fire the moment they knew they were empty. They ran into few undead at first, and Raj found herself incredibly impressed by the twins. Lugh would cast some spell that drew all of the water out of the shambling creatures, and then Aria would incinerate them with a well timed spell. The undead never drew close to them. 

At least, until they reached the first rift and they were so busy fighting demons that some of the undead drew close enough to require close quarters combat. Aria had just defeated the last demon and it was disappearing with a horrible shriek and Raj was shoving her hand into the rift to close it when there was a muffled  _ poom _ sound as the undead that was near Solas exploded in a nauseating splatter at the same moment the rift sealed in a rush of power . Some of the splatter hit Aria and she froze, then slowly turned to look at Solas, her eyes practically blazing with rage. How he didn’t finch, Raj didn’t know, she flinched and it wasn’t even directed at her. 

Lugh let out a muffled curse and cast a barrier over Solas as Aria slowly advanced on him. “I am going to crush the gristle in your every joint and then light it on fire. We have warned ye time and time again, and I am going to flay your skin off and  _ feed it to you _ . Dehydrate then incinerate. Why would you SCATTER TAINTED FLESH ALL OVER? I am going to freeze your eyes and shove them so far down your throat you will be able to see your own heart!”

Lugh sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and started conjuring ice to be melted. “Let us wash the taint off before all of that.”

Varric let out a low whistle and pulled out his paper pad again. “Beautiful, repeat that a little slower the first part was a little run together.”

Raj was a little impressed at his dedication to his stories to risk drawing her attention to himself right now. She had not seen Aria this angry since the first day in the healer’s tent. 

Solas looked a little pale at first and then his lip quirked as if he were trying very hard not to smirk. “Inventive.”

Aria snarled and shoved her finger against his chest with enough force to make him step back. “Oh, I'm inventive alright, because I be smart enough not to THROW DISEASED FLESH IN PEOPLE’S FACES!”

“Perhaps if you watched your rear quarter, the corpse would not have gotten so close and this would not have happened.” He countered. 

“Soap, sister?” Lugh offered mildly. He waved a bar of soap in front of Aria’s face and seemed to succeed in distracting her from dismembering Solas as she instantly left off threatening Solas to start stripping down to her under tunic and frantically scrubbing her face and arms, still growling.

“Perhaps if any of you addle witted lowlanders understood the first thing about disease, you would not be scattering taint about with every breath.” She pointed at Solas with the soap bar. “You should know better! 

It was funny to watch Solas try to hold Aria’s gaze while obviously shifting uncomfortably as she stripped most of her layers of clothing off to scrub every inch of skin she could reach.

“Why should I know better?” Solas blinked and then very obviously refocused his gaze on Aria’s eyes.

“Do not play the fool to me. As many dreams as you have seen, you know the reach of disease.” She scrubbed vigorously at her face and rose, dumping the bowl and scouring it with fire before Lugh refilled it with ice once more as she removed the braids from her hair. When that was done she melted the ice and practically dunked her head into the bowl, scrubbing and lathering the soap into her hair and scalp. 

“Are you going to be doing this every time we fight, dear?” Vivienne sighed and looked slightly put out about something. “I should think you’d be used to such things. Avvar do paint their bodies in mud are they not?” 

Aria lifted her hand in a gesture that wasn’t difficult to parse out its meaning and Lugh sighed. “Tis actually a mixture of clay and herbs and is for ritual purposes.” He said mildly. 

“At least it’s not toxins and bird shit to make one’s face seem pretty.” Aria groused. “Because apparently the sign of civilization is shit on one’s face, shit under one’s nails, and shit under one’s bed.” 

Lugh sighed again and handed her a clean rag from their pack. “Language.”

“Three of them.” She shot back, then pointed a sharp finger at Solas. “And if you do that again I will feed you every drop of rotted flesh and mud with a razor blade.” 

“Aria Sky Touched.” A voice said from the shadows. “I would know your threats anywhere.” 

Aria’s head snapped up and her eyes narrowed before a slow smile spread. “Skywatcher.”

Lugh looked delighted as an Avvar man just as massive as him approached, a giant maul propped on his shoulder and his face covered with a scarf the same way the twins had covered theirs. “Skywatcher! How fare you?”

“Aye, I be well. The Lady weeps, but I see you found the one who can heal her, no surprise there.” The man dropped the head of his maul to the ground and extended his arm for Lugh, then Aria, to grip, then extended it towards her. “I be Amund Skywatcher. Are you missing your people? If so, you can find them up in that hold.” 

His hand completely encircled her arm like Lugh’s did. What did they feed them? Were all Avvar men that big? Creators- Aria coughed and smirked as if she knew exactly where her mind had gone.

“Who took them?” Raj made herself focus on why they were here. “Are they alright?” 

“Some are wounded, but they acquitted themselves well. Movran’s whelp, Torg, is who took them. He is calling himself the Hand of Korth nowadays.”

Lugh let out a long suffering sigh and Aria groaned. “That ass hat. You cannot  _ give  _ yourself a legend mark, especially one as arrogant as that.” She reached into her pack and pulled out a clean shirt. “What fools followed him out here? If he had any brains in his head he would have gotten everyone out at first sign of sickness.”

“Movran took most of the hold with him when the lowlanders first took ill and would not allow us to help. Torg stayed with those seeking their marks. I stayed to watch the Lady’s wounds.” 

Oh. “The Lady of the Sky? The Veil?”

The massive older man looked surprised but pleased. “Aye, I am her augur. I read her portents and render up the bones of the dead.”

The shemlen mage made that arrogant sigh of hers. “Preposterous superstition.”

The man looked over at her and his nose wrinkled slightly. “Preposterous is what you wore to a bog, Orlesian.”

“Preposterous is her manners.” Aria snorted, then her face twisted into a grimace as she looked down at the clothes she had shed and she flicked her wrist, lighting the pile on fire. “I liked that set.” 

“Peace, Sky. I will make you a new set.” Lugh huffed, then nodded at the Skywatcher. “You should aid us. The Lowlanders need all of the sense we can lend until Raj’Sileal heals the Lady.”

The Skywatcher looked at him and then down at her thoughtfully. “It would track that the two most renowned healers among our people found the one who could heal the Lady. Aye, put Movransen in his place and I’ll join ye.”

Just like that? Because they had Lugh and Aria with them? ‘Renowned healers among our people’ he had said. Lugh and Aria, they weren’t just random Avvar that showed up. They were known by others, respected. It… Raj didn’t know how she felt about that. 

They trudged up to the hold and all of the mages cast barriers so they could run through the hordes swarming the gates. Aria let out a disgusted shudder when the gates shut behind them, then lifted her arm and shouted in her language. There was a long pause, and then a deep bass voice called back. The two shouted a bit, and then Aria huffed and jerked her head towards the path. 

“Off we get. They will not strike so long as we draw not our blades.”

“How can you be certain?” Solas asked, his eyes scanning the broken walls in front of them. “They desired a fight, I doubt their minds will be so easily swayed.”

“We have the Sky Touched.” Lugh said in amusement.

“It would be a breaking of the peace accord between our holds.” Aria grumbled, shoving Lugh’s arm. “They desired a fight, not a war.” 

Raj felt incredibly small at the sight of scattered giants through the dim stone halls. They were painted in the chalk Lugh had mentioned and just… watching. They were all so tall… They filed into an old throne room and a massive man with a maul like the Skywatcher had carried stood up and inhaled as if about to shout. 

Only, Aria did not stop as they did at the crumbled doorway and instead charged at him. “Torg Movransen, what the fuck are you doing?”

The massive man’s eyes widened and he stepped back in what looked like fear. “Aria?”

“Why are you causing trouble? The Lady bleeds and you flop about in sickened waters like a whelp whose balls have not dropped? There is a plague out there! The Lady bleeds and you take the people of the woman who can heal her? I thought you had more sense in that thick skull of yours!” She stomped up the stairs and… grabbed his ear and dragged him down to stand in front of her. “All for what? A trophy? Fool.”

Raj gaped at the much smaller woman’s manhandling of a warrior just as large as her brother. Creators, no wonder she was not afraid or intimidated by the Commander If these are the men and women she had been raised with… and now seeing her with other Avaar she did seem on the ‘delicate’ side in comparison.

Aria released the giant man and crossed her arms. “Now. Apologize to Raj’Sileal and pay your weregild for harming her people like a man. If you want a true legend mark, do something to be remembered as more than Movran’s brat who was always trying for more than he could handle.” 

The man shifted on his feet before putting a fist over his heart and bowing and rattling off a long spiel of Alamarri. At Lugh’s pointed cough he grimaced and spoke in thickly accented Common. “You have my apologies for the trouble as I have caused it. Name the price for harm of your people and I will pay.”

Somehow, Torg Morvansen pledged his maul to the Inquisition, until the ‘Lady’s Wounds’ were healed. Just like that? All it took was a tongue lashing and dragging a giant by the ear like a child? She was feeling a little… well, overwhelmed as Aria and Lugh took care of the missing scouts and one of the Avvar warriors, a woman near a head taller than Aria, came to stand by her and watch the twins work. Eventually, she let out a wistful sigh. “Aye… either of them could have their pick of any of the holds if they so desired. You must be blessed of Rilla to have caught their eye so.” 

That was weir-What?!


	8. Chapter 8

Several of the Movran’s people joined the Inquisition, seeking to ‘aid the Lady’ or simply seeking their marks. They were sent ahead to Haven to report and get their assignments and those that didn’t Aria sent back with a message to Movran the Under. 

  
  


_ Hail Morvan the Under, Thane of Edvarr Hold. _

_ Your son, Torg is a fool, he is serving his weregild.  _

_ Lady keep you, Aria Sky Touched. _

Lugh had snatched the note from her before she handed it off and had written a note at the bottom:

_ We found the one who can heal the Lady. She is seated at the lowlander hold they call Haven _

_ Lugh the Patient _

Raj was still reeling at yet another clue that the pair were… famous, widely known and respected among the Avvar. It was still weird to think about. They did not act any different after the incident, and Lugh still happily offered to let her ride on his back any time she wished and Aria still grumbled and swore at every splatter of mud and every sneeze. Both of them still treated her as… well, as one of them, making room for her between them at meals, answering every question that popped into her head, and letting her slip into their tent so she could sleep with the sound of a heartbeat under her ear and the warmth of a clan. 

She wanted to check on the watchtowers and make sure the bandits weren’t accosting the refugees so they were travelling to the Hinterlands before they headed back to Haven. And… she might be procrastinating having to face Josephine after sending half a tribe of Avvar to her… And Vivienne. She was quite proud of herself for how she had worded the request, saying that Vivienne was much better equipped to help Josephine handle the nobles that plagued the Inquisition than traipsing around the wilds. So… yeah, she was avoiding having to face Josephine for saddling her with the shemlen mage. 

She waited as long as her curiosity would wait before asking the question that had been nagging her since the brush with the other Avvar. “What does ‘blessed of Rilla’ mean?”

She was riding on Lugh’s shoulders again and was at the perfect vantage point to see his ears turn pink. 

“Ah. She is the Goddess of the Fireside. One prays to her to bless a match and for children. To have her blessing is to be fortunate in love and fertility.” 

Oh. Raj felt her own face heat up. “So, uh… the Avvar have more gods than just the Lady?”

“Aye.” Lugh’s voice lit up and he straightened in the subtle way that meant that he was excited to talk about something. “Korth the Mountain Father, the eldest and the being upon which all is built. He is lord of the Frostbacks and provides all that is needed from the caves in which we live to the game which we hunt. Haakon Wintersbreath, the firstborn of Korth, is the master of the twins ice and steel. He is the god of winter and battle both. The Lady of the Skies is the mistress of the birds and they are her agents, giving us warnings and portents and carrying the remains of the dead to her realm.”

Raj noticed Solas and Varric subtly angle their mounts closer as he spoke, and Cassandra not so subtly slowed hers from where she rode up front. Aria had ridden ahead to scout the road and make sure they didn’t run into another ambush by bandits or templars. 

“Those are the three most powerful. After them, there is Imhar the Clever, the god of trickery, wit, stories, and cunning. The Great Bear Sigfrost is the wisest of all. He sleeps at the foot of the Mountain Father’s throne and one can challenge him for wisdom, though few survive. Uvolla of the Wending Wood is a god of mystery and silence, Bjorn Reed-Beard blesses the fishermen, and Rilla of the Fireside blesses the arts of creation, though her main power lies in the making of children.” 

So that warrior a few days ago had- oh creators, is that what people thought? Shemlen seemed strange about the easy way they gave comfort to one another, but Aria and Lugh did not seem to behave all that differently than her clan… other than stricter bathing rules. Were other Avvar tribes different? 

“You pray to seven gods?” Cassandra asked in a scandalized tone, pulling her away from her thoughts.

“Sometimes, but not always. My prayers lean towards the Lady, The Great Bear, and Uvolla of the Wending Wood. I delight in knowledge and the seeking of it.” Lugh answered mildly. “What of you, Raj? Do your people follow the Lowlander gods, or do you have your own?” 

“We follow the Creators.” She said slowly, pretending not to see Solas’s features fall into a frown. She had made the mistake of asking him his opinions on Dalish culture and his response had been… stinging. She braced herself for the normal Shemlen reaction to the statement. Mockery for ‘savage superstition’. 

“Would ye tell me of them?” Lugh asked instead, his voice only eager with curiosity. “She knows them but will not speak often of them.”

“Elgar’nan is the god of vengeance and fatherhood. He leads the creators with his wife, Mythal, the Great Protector. She is the goddess of love, motherhood, and justice. Falon’Din is the friend to the dead, and his twin brother, Dirthamen, is the keeper of secrets and knowledge and masters the ravens Fear and Deceit. He is the one who gave us knowledge and taught us loyalty and faith. Andruil is the goddess of the hunt, and her brother, June, is the god of craft. He taught the People how to make weapons in order to hunt Andruil’s gifts. Ghilan’nain is the Mother of the Halla and we pray to her to guide us in our travels.”

She reached up and touched her face and pointedly ignored Solas’ subtle scoff. “Sylaise is the Hearthkeeper, the goddess of fire and weaving and healing. I bear her mark.” She hesitated, and then added. “Fen’Harel is… the trickster. The Dread Wolf who betrayed the gods and locked them behind the Veil.” 

Lugh made a fascinated humming sound. “So your vallaslin is a mark of your gods as well as a sign you have come of age?”

“Yes. I… always leaned towards hearthkeeping, so I took her mark. Babae wanted me to take Mythal’s for the same reason he named me, but it was not his to choose.”

Cassandra looked back with a thoughtful crease in her brow. “Then you… do not believe in the Maker?”

Raj felt torn… she was Dalish, proudly so. But she did not want to offend Cassandra. The woman’s faith seemed to be very important to her, but… Andrastianism was not kind to elves, and she followed her people’s gods. “I… The Maker is not… for me.” 

Cassandra’s face fell and she shifted in her seat to look ahead. “I see.”

Lugh was quiet for a long moment before he asked quietly. “Have you been able to worship your gods since the Lady was wounded?” 

Raj felt a sudden urge to cry. No one- No one had asked her- No one had seemed to care that she was separated from her people and family and ways. Until now, and he was. “No. The shemlen don’t… like to think of me as Dalish.”

He made a grunting sound. “If you wish…” He hesitated. “If you need certain things or… if it is appropriate for me to offer, I would aid you.”

“But… they’re not your gods.”

He shrugged and she had to grab onto his hair to keep from toppling off at the movement. “Aye, but our gods are not at war, are they? I see no reason they cannot live alongside each other.” 

That was… “I would like that. Thank you.” 

  
  
  
  


“Your people are very accepting of others beliefs.” Solas approached her after they had met up with Scout Harding’s men in the Hinterlands and decided to stay in the established camp on Dennet’s farm. They would close a rift they had missed on the backside of Dennet's farm in the morning. They had just finished eating their evening meal and Aria was leaning her back against a tree, reading a pocket volume of Ginativies works on ‘The Little Known Myths and Legends of Ferelden.’

She didn’t even glance up from the pages. “Are they?” 

“Apparently.” He said simply and moved to sit on a root beside her. Despite her rather colorful threats after the unfortunate… accident, she hadn’t moved to act upon any of them. It would seem her temper was as a wildfire, quick to light and quick to burn out. 

She just hummed in her throat and turned the page. He waited patiently for her to speak but she only continued reading, leaving him feeling slightly awkward sitting beside her without conversation. “Have you no opinion of that?”

She blinked up at him with an obviously put on innocent expression. “Oh. Was there a question in there, or were you teaching me about the Avvar? You sounded quite certain.” 

She was- “I was making an observation.” He clarified, wondering at her reasoning for her treatment.

“You were making an assumption.” She sighed as she picked up a leaf from the ground beside her and used it to mark her spot and turned to regard him with a sharp gaze. “Tell me, are they actually or are you basing your opinion on one or two encounters?” 

He opened his mouth to deny but paused as she lifted an eyebrow at him, it had been a long time since he had spoken to or heard anything on Avvar culture. He sighed and nodded his head in concession. “You are correct, ir abelas. Forgive me.” 

She blinked as if not expecting him to own up to his mistake and the knowledge that he had surprised her almost made him smile. She huffed and pushed up from the groundwork stand. 

“Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern.” She held up a finger. “But not proof.” 

“A wise saying.” He stood as well and lightly tapped the cover of the book she held. “I thought you said you were not interested in history?”

She blinked again and her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Forgive me? Where might the Library be? I seem to have missed it. There is such a wide choice of books to be found laying about.”

Sarcasm. The woman seemed to thrive on it. “Then you enjoy reading for the sake of reading?” He asked instead, refusing to allow her to annoy him. 

“I enjoy not sitting idle.” She shook her head. “Just because one does not enjoy a subject enough to jump at conversing on it does not make one ignorant.”

“You seem to dislike me.” He switched subjects again, hoping to throw her off balance. 

“Distrust.” She smirked and shrugged one shoulder. “Though the two often go hand in hand.” 

“What have I done to earn your distrust?”

She tilted her head. “What have you done to earn my trust?”

Ahh. “I truly did not mean to cause such a mess.” 

She actually looked at him as if he had said the most idiotic thing she had heard. “Sometimes you say things that make me wonder of your intelligence.”

So it was not just the incident, curious. “That makes two of us then.”

She startled him by barking a laugh. “At least you are truthful.” She laughed and looked up at the sky. The light of the breach obscured the majority of the stars. “What was your ‘observation’, Solas?”

She was giving him a chance to start over. Very well. “Your brother seems very accepting of others beliefs.”

She cracked a smile. “Ah. He is the most faithful of  _ agnahstihks _ .”

That was not Alamarri, or any other language he knew. “I am not familiar with that word.” 

She hummed but did not look surprised. “A person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of gods.” She laughed, a rueful sort of laugh. “It has actually been quite a pain as we have grown.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Why was he a pain or why are his beliefs so?” She smirked and looked incredibly amused. 

“Both.” 

“For the first I do not trust you enough yet for the answer.” She said plainly and raised a shoulder in a half. “And for the second let me ask. Do you know everything?”

Strange. “Only a fool would believe he knew everything.”

She smiled again and looked pleased by his answer. “Aye, we know less than half but let us pretend you know half of everything and have your own beliefs.”

He nodded, willing to play along and see where her mind would take them. “Very well.” 

“You meet a people with another belief of how the world works. Different gods, different cultures.” She was setting up a scenario of sorts, interesting. “Now you could argue that your way is right and they’d maintain the same, that theirs is correct. Now in all that knowledge, the half of everything you knew: Could it yet be possible that theirs exists in the other half you have yet to learn?” 

Brilliant. Solas couldn’t help but be impressed. She had explained a way of thinking by having him place himself within a scenario where it applied. Even with her accented common she once again showed her intellect. 

“And what do you believe?”

She looked up at the sky and the breach and at first he wondered if she would speak as she was quiet for several moments. “My beliefs have been challenged from the first breath, Solas. Each time I believe I have figured something out something happens to throw my way of thinking on its head.” She looked at him and the smile she gave him was a sad one. “The only thing that I know I can rely on and is tangible, is me… how I live. Will I make the difference? And will that difference be good or ill? Will I leave this world a little better than when I found it? Aye, that is my belief.” 

He had expected a long list of gods, of spirits, of rituals. Not this. Her words had been beautiful and sincere. She was a rare mind. “Thank you.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and started walking for the tent she shared with her brother. “For?”

“For speaking with me.” He spoke honestly. “You have enlightened me to a new way of thought and I am grateful.”

She stopped and turned to look at him as if she was searching for something before making a ‘huh’ sound and turned back to her tent. “Good evening. Solas.” She said before ducking through the flap. 

“Good night… Sky.”

She was a mystery. A brilliant and bright mystery. 

  
  
  
  


Lugh sighed in relief as Raj healed The Lady’s wound. It had hurt his soul to see how the gods had been driven mad. He hoped they might someday return to their purpose. 

Aria frowned at where the rift had been and looked around the clearing as she secured her bow. “How did you miss this one on your first trip?”

Raj shook out her hand and shrugged. “We never came this way.”

“Perhaps her scouts did not find it until after they had left the area.” He supplied, he had noticed the inquisition scouts seemed lacking,  they tended to stink and were poor climbers. 

"Maybe. They said there's something weird up that Ridge." Raj shrugged again. "Some old statue. "

Lugh tried to keep from looking too interested but he couldn't help a hopeful. "Oh?" Old statues sometimes had inscriptions which led to stories which led to knowledge.

“Herald, perhaps we should return?” Solas spoke up suddenly and looked back towards the farm. “Inform Dennet his livestock should be safe?” 

Raj gave him a smile. "After we check out the old rock. It shouldn't take lon g" 

"That's what you think." Sky muttered. He gave her the finger. There was nothing wrong with taking time to collect stories. 

He followed Raj as she led the way to an… Alamarri carved Statue. Aria stopped at his shoulder and let out an irritated sigh. “ _ Bloody hell.”  _

He cleared off some of the moss and dirt from the base, pulling aside vines of elfroot until he uncovered the inscription. It was ancient Alamarri and took some effort to translate, but couldn't help a grin as he read the story of Tyrdda Bright Axe and her lover. "Sister! I have found your likeness! "

"Bear, there's no need to be mean." Varric laughed and grimaced at the stylized stone. “Just as ugly as the others we found.”

"What does it say?" Raj wedged herself up against his arm to peer at the inscription. 

He took the time to write it out in his book exactly as it appeared before adding a translation in common and reading it out. " Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Thelm Gold-Handed, battle brought with blade and ax/Thelm in mail and shields of silver, shining sheen to turn attacks./Blade of dragonbone now blooded, warrior throats wrung raw with cheers,/Tyrdda stands, her bright ax blazing, leg still weeping battle-tears./Bright the ax of leaf-eared lover, laughing lady of the skies,/Fire flares as Thelm Gold-Handed, honey-tongued, repeats his lies./’North to warmth, and golden cities,/Whispers speak in Dreamers' ears!/Silver scorched, the liar flies/On ravens' beaks, to dream unwaking.’ " 

“Leaf eared lover?” Raj asked quietly. “She was in love with an elf?”

"More likely a spirit who preferred the form of an elf." He shrugged. “There is more to the story elsewhere, and the tales of my tribe speak of it.”

“You’re strangely silent?” Aria directed at Solas who was standing a good several paces away, looking anywhere but the statue they were examining. “No bits of knowledge to share?” 

"This is not my people's story." He said in an oddly flat tone. 

Lugh saw Aria’s eyes narrow. “It does speak of spirits… that is not of interest to you?”

“Look at this!” Raj pointedly to carved symbols at the very base of the statue, small and easily missed. “What’s this say?”

Lugh knelt and ran his fingers over the faded symbols… they were too worn to read but he was able to cast a small spell to pull the intent from the stone and the impression of a place… a burial… location pressed upon him. “Gods… Aria it’s-“ he stopped and switched to their twin speech. “ _ Where your bones were laid.”  _

“What?” Raj asked, leaning more heavily on his arm. He could practically felt Aria’s eyes glaring a hole in the back of his head.

“It speaks of where Tyrdda’s past body is laid, and, if she was buried as she should have been, where her weapon is.” He said quietly. He knew Aria did not like to speak or think of her previous life, but to have her old staff… it could only bode well. 

Raj studied the markings pensively before hesitantly asking. “Should… we try to get the- get it for her new- for her?” 

Solas suddenly cursed in what he knew from Aria was the elves tongue and moved to stand next to Raj. “Are you seriously speaking of robbing the grave? Do you hold no respect for your dead?”

Lugh raised his eyebrows at the mage. “I do not think it is considered grave robbing if you have permission from the soul who was buried…”

Aria groaned and rubbed her face with both hands before speaking in their twin tongue. “ _ You know what, I’ll allow it, only because it seems to irritate him _ .  _ And maybe after this you will shut up about it _ .”

“Because that has always worked before.” He laughed, half shocked that she was going along with it, half amused that she let the elf mage under her skin so. 

Solas’ grip on his staff looked as if the elf was trying to snap it in two. “Herald, I do not see how this helps us seal the breach… perhaps when time is not of the essence?”

Raj made a face at the lowlander title, and then sighed. “Yeah… after the breach is sealed perhaps we can take a trip together.” She paused and then looked up at him with clear disappointment in her eyes. “If… you want.” 

“Yes.” Lugh’s answer felt pulled out of him before he had finished thinking it. 

“Thank you.” Solas’ voice carried a hint of relief and he inclined his head towards the direction of Dennet's farmhouse. “We should be going.”

Varric spoke up with his voice full of mischief. “Isn’t there some researcher that has been hounding Ruffles for funds to research this very thing?”

Lugh frowned at that. He did not want some… lowlander prying apart his sister’s past tomb as if it were a frog to dissect. He sent a curl of magic through the stone and covered the intent carved into it with his own desire to keep his sister’s past bones hidden from all but themselves. Solas looked relieved at the action, and it sat… pointed with Lugh. He did not want them disturbing Tyrdda. He frowned at the mage. “How old are you?” 

Solas’ expression went perfectly blank and he pressed his lips together. “We should return to the farm before night falls.”

“Worse than a middle aged woman.” Varric huffed and stretched, popping a few of the bones in his back. “I think it’s a safe bet that I’m the oldest in the party here, Bear.”

Aria and Solas both spoke at the same moment, in the same mumbling tone. “Debatable.” Then shot each other a narrowed look.

Huh… that was promising. 

  
  
  
  
  


Leliana was going to have  _ words _ with the Herald when she returned. She knew that Cassandra had taken the Avvar twins in some misguided attempt to protect Cullen from their… forwardness. Then the Red Jenny had shown up, and that… she could work with that. Then the Enchantress had shown up and Josephine could work with that.

And now… and now there were dozens of the barbarian Avvar warriors ‘reporting for duty’, including the one that had taken their scouts. 

Cullen was looking half terrified, because apparently Avvar found his Fereldon looks positively irresistible. Every Avvar woman and half of the men had propositioned him so far, though many of them had called him ‘delicate’.

The Avvar seemed to hold the same odd disdain for ‘lowlander filth’ and refused to stay with the other soldiers or in the walls. Instead, they set up camp out by the cabin the twins used, erecting crude shelters and wash basins and sending out their own scouts and hunting parties when they weren’t on duty. They only seemed to go within Haven’s walls for their assignments or for their daily use of the bath house. According to Cullen, however, they were a boon for training recruits. 

They were fierce and skilled fighters, the mages among them were powerful and controlled, and Leliana’s best trained scouts could not find them if they did not wish to be found. 

She asked their seeming leader, Torg, what their secret was and he had shrugged and given a rueful smile. “We can smell your scouts long ere they find us.” Apparently the ‘mud’ they used was a scent blocking clay. 

So scouts not on assignment were sent to train with them… and then promptly sent back to her with demands that they bathe before and after their training, strange for a culture that smears themselves with clay. But she could not argue with results. Within a week her scouts had improved in bounds… however the complaints of women stealing Avvar had tripled. These Avvar were not at all shy, nor conservative, in their advances. 

In fact, Leliana thought as yet another massive warrior asked to bed her, they were downright fearless. 

“Swift Blade, they call you?” She put on her best smile and the warrior grinned.

“Aye, it is-”

“It must be unusual to have a legend mark from your reputation in bed.” She said sweetly. 

He blinked and then, to her shock, laughed, shaking his head in seeming earnest amusement. “Ah, your wit is as keen as the winter’s bite. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.” He laughed again and took his leave.

Fearless… and apparently extremely good at taking an insulting rebuff. 

She allowed herself a brief temple rub as yet another massive shadow fell over her. “No.”

There was a pause, and then the one they called the Sky Watcher spoke. “The birds have sent the Lady’s word. Your Herald will return to your hold shortly.” 

And then there was the Avvar insistence that their gods gave them… whatever that was. “Our messengers say that the party will not arrive until late this evening.”

“Yeah.” 

Leliana startled at a voice at her elbow, pulling her dagger and whirling, and… freezing at the sight of the Herald standing in her tent with both Avvar twins at her shoulders. “What?”

“Lugh wanted to teach me how to be stealthier, and Aria wanted to cause trouble, so we snuck off from the party and tried to make it here undetected.” The Herald seemed… incredibly proud of herself she spread her hands with a broad grin. “Ta-da!”

Leliana looked between Aria and Lugh. The former smiling quite sharply and the other with the most completely innocent look she had ever seen on a man that large.

A runner burst into her tent, breathless and pale. “Spymaster, we have just received word from the Seeker that the barbarians have taken the Herald! There’s no sign… of… them...” She trailed off and then took a step backwards. “I’ll just… let the Commander know we can call off the search party…” 

“Don’t forget to mention the sacrifices,” Aria called after the retreating scout.

“You… took the Herald?” Right from under Cassandra, Solas, and Varric's noses? 

“Oh! No! She’s not my type.” Aria waved her hand.

Lugh… blushed and shook his head. “Ah… no. Not this… uh, no.” 

Leliana resisted the urge to rub her temples again. The Sky Watcher laughed, deep and rumbling. “Ah, ‘tis good to see you two are the same as ever. We are having a feast tonight. Join us.”

“Oh, definitely.” 


	9. Chapter 9

“Commander, the Seeker-“

“I am aware.” This was the third complaint about the ‘Rowdy Avvar’. What did they honestly expect him to do? They were outside of Haven’s walls and thus not harming any of their people. 

“The Seeker cannot find the Herald.” The messenger finished in a rush.

Cullen ran a hand over his face. “Did she look with the Avvar?”

There was a shifting and then the messenger spoke. “She was quite… adamant that if she had to bear another proposition from the barbarians she would run them through.” 

Maker’s breath… He did not understand why the Avvar seemed so… intent on him and Cassandra. He sighed and reflexively drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I will… make sure the Herald is well.” 

He took a handful of soldiers with him. He could hear the Avvar celebration from behind the walls, and it only grew louder as he trudged along the path the Avvar mages magically cleared after every snowfall. There were drums and a few pipes of somesort, and a lot of shouting and singing. There was a massive fire around which several of the Avvar were dancing, and he was relieved, no… he was horrified? Relieved yet horrified to see The Herald standing on the shoulders of one of the giants, somehow keeping her balance as he danced. 

She was safe. In a way… He could go before-

“Godendwlid!” 

That. He swallowed a sigh as one of the Avvar warriors approached him with a lopsided grin. “Are you joining the feast tonight?”

“Ah, I-”

“Godendwlid!”

Aria appeared out of the shifting shadows and grabbed the fur on his cloak and hauled him over so she could bury her nose into his neck. He was too shocked to react as she… sniffed, and then released him only to pat his face with a pleased smile. “Good man.”

He had to clear his throat to find his voice. “A-are you-“

“Drunk? Not yet.” She winked and sauntered off, shouting something in Alamarri, and he stared after her, feeling his face heat at a snicker behind him from one of the soldiers. 

The Avvar who had spoken first had his eyebrows raised, and he smirked before raising his hands and stepping back. “I did not know. We will not trouble you further. Join our feast! The battles will begin soon.” 

Had she just… claimed him? He was torn between relief the other Avvar seemed to take the incident as a sign to leave him be, and… well, to be honest, terrified that she had… “Maker’s breath…” 

A chorus of shouts flared out on the lake and he looked over to see several of the warriors clutching ice axes and shouting at each other. Out of a sense of duty, he went over to see if a fight was about to break out, though… he doubted the soldiers behind him could do much to stop an angry Avvar, let alone a crowd of them. He needed to train them more. He neared the group and no sooner had the Avvar seen him, then one reached out and grabbed one of his men by the shoulder. “I choose the small one!”

What?

Another warrior pointed at another. “I choose the skinny one, not much weight. Should be able to climb fast.”

“What?”

“The pretty one!” A hand grabbed his cloak and hauled him towards one of the groups, there were two groups facing off each other. There was a shout in the Avvar language and then just as suddenly the hand was off of his shoulder. “My apologies. You are on our team.” 

“What is-?“

“Grab a bone, Godendwlid.” A bag was shoved at him and when he didn’t react right away the warrior holding it reached in and pulled out a multi colored bone and shoved it into his hand. “Keep it, so you know your turn.” The warrior moved and offered the bag to another.

The Herald appeared by his elbow, grinning wildly. “This is so much fun! It’s almost like a clan festival! We’re on the same team. I don’t think I’ll win, but I’m gonna try.”

“Win what?” 

“Oh, we’re climbing the cliff.” The Herald gestured at the icy cliff over the lake with a carefree shrug. “Lugh insists we do this game first before everyone is too drunk to survive a fall. Oh hey! Sky’s on the other team!” 

“‘Survive a…? Maker have mercy.” He looked over to see Aria facing off with Torg who towered over her, shouting down at her in Alamarri. To which Aria immediately retaliated by poking his chest then flicking his nose with the same vicious sounding words. The Avvar around them seemed to cheer the two on as they both got louder until Torg fell silent, blinking and opening and closing his mouth as if he could not think of anything else to shout. 

Aria spread her arms and ducked her head as if accepting the applause that broke out among the avvar gathered round..

“Where is Lugh?” He seemed more… tame than his sister.

“Oh, he and Sky Watcher are acting as the thanes for tonight. They’ll be judging. They wanted Aria apparently, but she wanted to ‘bloody some whelps’.” The Herald said cheerfully. 

Maker, his men were… “Aria!” 

Aria’s head snapped over to look at him and she broke into a grin and waved before disappearing into the crowd of towering avvar. He took a step to follow her, but the Herald grabbed his arm. “No, you’re on my team! Come on, we have to give a good show as the Lowlanders!” 

A good… what did that even mean? Losing sight of Aria, he relented and allowed her to drag him over to where the apparent teams were lining up. (He could at least try to keep the Herald safe.) One of the avvar in front raised a blue tipped bone and another Avvar was shoved forward with a matching bone. The two were given ice axes and shouted at each other with just as much viciousness as Aria and Torg had before they were interrupted by rough shoves towards the cliff. 

“Come on, it’s a party! Not a death sentence!” The elvhen woman punched him lightly on the arm and he instinctively moved to shield her from being run into by one of the cheering warriors. 

“Not if they step on you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but she burst out laughing.

“There you go! A joke! You’ll be fine!  Have fun! That’s an order! ” The woman slapped his shoulder lightly then frowned and jumped as if trying to get a better view. “Creators, why are they all so tall?” He was about to answer with something, he wasn’t sure what, when she surprised him by grabbing the shirt of the Avvar in front of them and tugging. “Hey, if you’re going to block the view at least give me a lift, man.”

The man turned and looked down at her before he laughed and scooped her up and set her on his shoulder, and they both turned their attention to the cliff, where the two Avvar who had the ice axes were… using them to climb up the cliff. Cullen glanced at the green and yellow bone in his hand and sighed. “Ah.”

He had been pulled into a game of strength and skill then. One he had absolutely no experience in. This was what the Herald had meant by ‘making a good show’. He kept one part of his attention on her where she perched on the warrior’s shoulder as if it were the most natural of seats, and the rest of his attention on the games, observing the participants' techniques. ‘Have fun’. He could… try.

The warrior apparently on his own team won by a length, and barely had the second reached the top than another pair with matching bones were pulled from the crowd and shoved towards the cliff. The one from the other team won, and then another pair was shoved forward. Cullen was getting an idea of the movements needed for the extreme task when one of the climbers slipped and then fell with a shout. He felt his heart speed in fear for the warrior, but there was a ripple through the air and the taste of magic, and the warrior’s fall slowed and he stepped safely onto the ground, where he was promptly shoved and a drink poured over his head. 

The warrior took his loss fairly well and went over to slap the arm of the mage who had caught him in a grateful gesture.

After several more climbers face off, his men failing miserably to keep up with the Avvar warrior twice their weight and size. The only one of the ‘lowlanders’ that completed the climb was the Herald herself, who took twice as long as the warrior she was racing, but made it to the top and was rewarded with cheers and a perch on Lugh’s shoulders. Aria’s voice rose above the shouts, first in Alammari, and then in Common. “Who has the green and yellow bone? Come race me to the sky!” 

Cullen glanced at the bone in his hand, the green and yellow colors seeming to mock him. Of course. It was just his luck to be pitted against her. He was going to lose. 

He must have waited too long to answer as the warrior who had first held the Herald aloft turned and shoved him forward. “This one, Sky Touched.”

She grinned and waved him over. “Ay! I wager you might make it to the top. You will not win, but you might at least finish.”

One of the warrior women shouted something that made Aria, and most around them, laugh. Aria prowled over and handed him the ice axes he was to use. “Make me proud, Godendwlid.” She looked him over and then arched an eyebrow. “I would shed some of that armor if I were you, otherwise you will be hauling stone.” 

The extra weight of his armor would likely slow him down, and make him work twice as hard. “Maker, how did I get roped into this madness?” 

“Because even handsome soldiers need to have some fun.” She grinned, and rapped a knuckle against his breastplate. “Come on, strip and race me or I’ll strip and race you.” 

She was not wearing armor, only a tunic and breeches. She did not have any layers she could shed and stay decent, and he doubted she was prone to idle threats. He could see some of his men standing in the crowd. Knight Captain Rylen seemed to be in a heated debate with a warrior over whether or not he could make it. Money changed hands and then the Knight Captain… gave him a grin and a thumbs up. 

Great… just great. ‘Have fun’, the Herald had said. Very well. 

It took a great deal of discipline not to react to the whoops and cheers of the avvar as he began shedding his armor and gave each piece to the Knight Captain to keep a hold of during the race. The wind was biting cold and he hid his shiver as he took the ice axes back from Aria. She grinned at him, not as sharp as her usual smiles. This one creased the corners of her eyes. “This will be fun.” 

The climb was just as difficult as he had known it would be, but he was determined to reach the top. The effort of each foot gained was near torture, muscles unused to the task straining and burning as he pulled himself up each icy inch. It hurt, the skin on his hands not up to the task, but… it was… satisfying. Each inch gained felt like a victory. He could hear when he passed each of the points that his men had fallen from by the cheers and shouts from the Avvar below, and some insults. One of them made a comment about the shape of his backside that almost had him slipping in embarrassment, but he held on through sheer determination. 

“Aye, you’re doing well, Godendwlid. Not much further.” 

He looked up and felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of Aria hanging by one hand from her ice axe, feet braced against the wall as she twisted to look down at him. “Maker’s breath, stop doing that!” 

She glanced at her axe and then laughed. “Aw, you do care. Come on, you are earning much respect.” She swung herself easily back onto her axes and a moment later she was at the top of the cliff, laying on it and peering over to watch him. He refocused on the task of climbing, of pushing past the burn and ache of his muscles and the pain of his raw hands. A heartbeat or an eternity later, he felt a rush of euphoria as he hauled himself onto the flat ledge of the cliff top. He had made it. He had climbed to the top as the Avvar, only one of two ‘lowlanders’ to make it. He finished. He did it.

He collapsed onto his back, with a shocked, unbelieving laugh, breathing heavily and aching but alive with triumph. Aria’s face appeared over him and she was beaming, her smile blinding in proud happiness. “You did it, Godendwlid!” She dropped to her knees in the trampled snow next to him and threw her arms around him in a hug that he was too tired and too pleased to feel embarrassed about. She pulled back and her smile faltered at the sight of his hands. She picked his wrist up and looked at him in concern. “May I heal your hands?” 

For once, the thought of magic being used on him didn’t turn his stomach. He let his head fall back into the cold snow. “Yes. Thank you.” 

Tingling magic spread over his hands and the pain disappeared in a wash of pins and needles that she rubbed away with her own rough fingers, callused and strengthened in what he could now tell was years of this kind of exertion. 

“There. Good as new. Come! The night is young!” She jumped to her feet and held out a hand to him, and he took it, letting her pull him easily to his feet. Barely was he standing before a drink was pushed into his hands by an Avvar warrior who eagerly congratulated him.

The night after that… was a blur of drinks and ‘games’ and he remembered losing his shirt at one point in order to grapple with one of the Avvar, and he had no idea if he won or lost, or if it mattered beyond the brutal, physical fun of it. He could not remember a time when he had enjoyed himself so… thoroughly. There was no artifice to the gathering, no nobles to politely face, no double meanings and coy barbs. Insults and compliments flew freely, and sometimes punches followed by claps on the shoulders or hugs and shared drinks. Through the revelry, Aria’s grin was close by, flashing in the firelight or facing him as he arm wrestled her, or over another drink shoved into his hand.

He had fun. 

A fact he thought he might regret deeply when he woke to find his head pillowed on Aria’s chest. Light was streaming through a crack in the wall, he felt oddly warm, and he thought he ought to have a hangover. The Herald was curled on Lugh’s chest like a cat, and Lugh’s legs were thrown over his own. What… in the Maker’s name had happened?

Aria seemed to be wrapped in his cloak and still, blessedly, fast asleep, but his shirt was missing and every muscle in his body ached as if he was a youth after his first day of training. He had no hangover, but… how had he ended up here?

Carefully, he eased his legs out from under Lugh’s and then removed his head from Aria’s… chest. Neither moved and he glanced around hopefully for his clothes. His boots were missing, and his shirt. He could not regain his cloak without waking Aria and… he found he did not have the courage to face her yet. The Herald cracked an eye open as he started to ease out of the pile of limbs and blankets, then smiled and appeared to go back to sleep. 

He slowly, very slowly crept out of the loft and looked around, but could not find his clothes. Maker’s breath… what had happened? There was a note on the door.

_ Commander Cullen Godendwlid (your name be very long) _

_ You took a potion to keep the punishment of drink from your head. No magic was cast on you besides the healing of your hands. _

_ Lugh the Patient _

And… that was all that was said. Cullen took the note and rubbed his face. At least he knew why he was not hungover, but where in the Maker’s name were his clothes? There was no sign of them within the cabin. He exhaled sharply and braced himself for the bite of the wind, and opened the door. His boots were leaned neatly by the entrance and he gratefully pulled them on, ice and all, then froze when he looked up to find the apostate, Solas, watching him with a startled expression. 

“Commander.” The Apostate nodded a greeting, his face falling into a frown. “Eventful night?”

He felt his face flush as he realized exactly how this looked and that he could not in fact, be sure the night had not been… ‘eventful’, everything ached. He cast about for an answer but could find none. He did spot what looked to be his shirt hanging from the top branch of a nearby tree, however. “Maker’s Breath.”

Solas followed his gaze and he could swear he saw the mage smirk. “Ahh… I believe that is an honorary custom… if you notice your shirt is the highest.” The mage inclined his head. “Enjoy your day.” 

That sounded… significant…

Cullen eyed his shirt, then decided it would be less embarrassing to simply rush to his cabin rather than attempt to fetch it. He started walking, only remembering the Avvar all camped around the cabin when one of the warrior women made a noise like a howling wolf as he hurried past. 

He made it to his cabin with limited encounters, though each of the few Avvar awake made that same howling noise at him. His armor was blessedly laid out neatly on the bed, Maker bless Rylan. Out of recent habit, he threw on loose clothing, gathered up what he would wear for the day, and hurried to the bathing house to use the waterfall rooms. The heated water felt blissful on his aching muscles, but the act of scrubbing made him notice that he was covered both in paint and bruises. He dearly, sincerely hoped that the others at the ‘party’ had the same difficulty remembering the later events.

Washed, dressed, and his hair tamed, he faced the day, ignoring smirks and congratulating slaps on his aching shoulders as he took care of the morning’s duties before reporting to the War Room for the council.

The Herald looked alert and completely unconcerned over the events of last night as she fell into step beside him towards the War Room. He glanced at her uncertainly, but she just had her hands clasped behind her back and a smile on her face. He opened the door for her and she slipped in with a cheerful thanks, and he followed and tried not to blush when Leliana and Josephine both smirked at him. Cassandra glanced over him in concern. “Are you well?”

“Yes… there seems to be something different about you today, Commander.” Leliana said slyly.

“You seem less… fuzzy today.” Josephine put a finger to her cheek. “Have you cut your hair?” 

He knew exactly what they were hinting at. His missing cloak, that he had last seen wrapped around Aria, when he had woken with his head on her… he blushed and then there was a short knock on the door before it was opened almost the same instant. Aria poked her head in and grinned. “Aye, you forgot this.” She ducked into the War Room and thrust his folded cloak into his arms, then patted his shoulder. “You were very impressive.” Then she turned and narrowed her eyes at Leliana and Josephine, pointing at them threateningly. “Leave him be.”

And then she was gone.

And he was left holding his cloak and pinned under the stares of the others.

Cassandra, for her part, looked bewildered. “What… was that?”

“I… apparently have been claimed.” He said uncomfortably. He still wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that.

The Herald patted his arm sympathetically. “You and I both.” 

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed in a strangled tone. 

“Shall we discuss the Heralds upcoming trip to meet with the Mages in Redcliffe?” Josephine asked suddenly, saving him from having to explain what… for the life of him he could not explain.

  
  
  
  


He had watched last evening’s festivities from the safety of the Fade. Spirits eager to play out the merriment taking place on the other side of the veil. 

It was a nostalgic thing, the Alamarri had not changed in their love of games and drink. Nor in their apparent ability to pull others into their merriment. It had been quite amusing to watch as the Commander himself was unwillingly dragged into their games. But unfortunately he could not remain to watch the outcome. Several of his agents were waiting and ready to report.

The next morning Solas had seen many of the Inquisition’s forces trickling back into Haven as the day dawned, making him sorry he had missed the conclusion of the night. The Knight Captain Rylen was sporting a rather vivid set of love bites on his neck as he hurried into the town with a bulky bundle clutched in his arms. 

He had decided to check on how Lugh and Aria fared, Lavellan was sure to be with them as well, so he began to make his way down the path. 

He had expected quite the array of ridiculous scenes upon arrival, having seen quite a few Avvar and the Commander’s soldiers in various embarrassing states of drink induced slumber. But nothing came close to seeing the Commander of the Inquisition sneaking from the sibling’s cabin in only his breeches. 

The man looked like a confused, scared deer. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease the man, and it was a simple matter as his shirt seemed to be in the highest branches of the nearby tree. A sure sign of Avvar admiration. The higher the clothing, the more certain they were you were able to fetch it.

The Commander however did not seem to realize that he was expected to retrieve it as he rushed off, red faced and… covered in blue swirling paint. A sign of one promised. How had that happened? And to who? One of the twins? Lavellan? Another Avvar? He certainly had quite a few admirers if the howls that followed in his wake were anything to judge by.

He didn’t have too long to wait before Lavellan exited the cabin, and unlike the Commander, fully dressed. She caught sight of him and grinned. “Solas! You missed a real party last night.”

“So I’ve seen.” He couldn’t help but return the honest smile, the woman looked in better spirits than he had ever seen her.

“Maybe next time you can join us. I made it to the top of the cliff!” She announced with a proud gesture to the cliff in question, then gave him a wave. “I have to go do herald stuff apparently. See you around.” She practically skipped away. 

He was still watching her leave when Aria tumbled out of the cabin, her hair wild and what appeared to be blue paint smeared on the front of her shirt and… the Commander’s cloak clutched in her arms. She glanced up at the tree, barked a sharp laugh, and then hurried down the path without seeming to have noticed him. 

An interesting start to the day. Perhaps he should visit some memories of the previous night, as it seemed far more eventful than he had first thought.

“Solas,” He looked over at the call of his name to find Lugh leaning against the door frame. “You were missed last eve.” 

“I doubt that.” He replied mildly, smiling slightly and indicating the path his sister had just taken. 

“And yet ‘tis true.” The Avvar shrugged. “I was hoping to see you try your skill at the wall.” 

“I would have made a poor showing, I fear.” Not that he doubted he would have been successful.

Lugh gave him a slow, careful glance over before shrugging. “At least half way.” 

He was unsure if he should be insulted or relieved that had been his guess. “Sadly, we shall never know.”

Lugh barked a laugh, “Never say never, my friend.” He straightened and moved towards the fire pit tossing a few logs into it and stoking up a little. “Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

“Warm cider then?” Lugh picked up a jug that had been set to warm by the fire and picked out two mugs that had looked to have been recently washed and set aside to dry. 

“Very well.” He settled down by the fireside and accepted the warm spiced drink Lugh offered. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, sipping their drink and watching the flame lick up the sides of the new logs. “The Commander was sporting blue paint this morning.” He said conversationally after a few moments.

Lugh laughed. "Aye. Torg has it in his head the reason Aria spurned him was for Godendwlid. The man does not know enough to deny it. Truly, I think they will fumble into wedding without realizing it." 

Solas chuckled at the humor of the misunderstanding. "You will not warn him?"

Lugh smiled innocently. "Of what?" 

Solas found himself incredibly amused by the sibling mischief and smirked at the thought of the Commander’s, and possibly Aria’s, discomfort.

“I was able to change my dreams.” Lugh said suddenly with an excited tone that hinted he had just remembered. “Little changes, but conscious changes.”

“That is promising.” And it did not take long to become engrossed in theory of training capable dreamers.

  
  
  
  
  


Varric wasn’t a fool… he knew that, but at this moment he was seriously kicking himself for missing yesterday’s events. Seeing a painted and bruised Curly trying to sneak into Haven without his clothes and then Sky following with his cloak was evidence enough that he had missed one hell of a story. 

And the story just kept getting better. Soldiers trickled in from the Avvar camp, most of them looking miserable and just as out of sorts as Curly. He did manage to see quite a few half dressed soldiers climbing trees after their clothes. What had happened? He tried to catch Curly after he left the war room with a casual, "Some party, huh?" But the man had just turned beet red and grumbled something about ‘reports’ before he fled. 

Sera had apparently gotten blackout drunk before the real fun, Blackwall hadn't gone… this left the twins and maybe the Herald to prod for details. 

So being the dedicated author he was, he decided to brave the Avvar camp that surrounded their cabin, and imagine his delight at not only finding Bear but also Chuckles. 

“Well, it seems there was some party last night.” He eased himself to sit opposite of Chuckles. “How is it I didn’t get an invitation?” He pressed a hand against his chest in mock pain. “Why Bear, I’m hurt.” 

Lugh gave him a quizzical look. “I know the noise could be heard from Haven.”

Solas made a small noise in his throat. “Ah, among the lowlanders it is considered rude to go to a party without being personally invited.”

The big man blinked. “Huh. That is… backwards. Tis rude to exclude a person from your festivities lest they be there to draw blood.” 

“Good to know.” Varric leaned back, pulling out his notepad and was just about to ask for details when Lavellan bounced up the path grinning brighter than he’d ever seen her. 

“Hey Varric! Solas, you’re still here?”

“We were discussing theories.” Lugh smiled at her and offered her a mug of whatever they were drinking. 

She accepted it and laid against his back. “I have a great theory,” she grinned and took a sip from the mug. “One that involves our dear Commander.” 

“Oh?” Bear turned his head to look at her over his shoulder and Varric would guess by the overly casual way he said it that he was expecting whatever she was about to say.

“Uh-huh, this morning before you woke up he was curled up around Aria like she was his personal pillow.” She was grinning unashamedly. “My theory is given the right circumstances, the two of them might be an item.”

“He has left his banner outside her door.” Bear’s smirk was there and gone as he pointed to a piece of fabric fluttering among the branches of a tree right in front of the cabin. It looked remarkably like a shirt. 

Bear’s smirk was there and gone, but Varric found his mind hung on, “Wait, Curly was in bed with… all three of you?”

The Herald nodded brightly and then her eyes widened. “Don’t tell Cassandra.” 

“And get stabbed for simply being the messenger?” He raised his hands and shook his head. “No thanks.” No wonder she was in a good mood this morning.

“Is she aware he was a Templar?” Chuckles asked quietly with a slight frown creasing his forehead. “One or two nights are harmless but I would not try to force two with wholly different beliefs on magic together, especially one being a mage and the other a templar sworn to guard against magic.”

“She is intimately aware he was a templar.” Bear said gravely. 

The elf’s eyebrows raised then he nodded his head. “Ah…” he turned his attention back to his drink but Varric could see that thoughtful frown return after a few moments. 

Bear seemed to notice as well as he set Chuckles with a searching gaze. “You found the possibility humorous not two hours ago.”

Chuckles’ frown deepened and he rolled the mug between his hands. ”The Commander is a man trained to obedience. Obedience to any he views as authority.” He sighed and set the mug down. “It was humorous until it became a serious discussion. Should the Herald, one he sees as his superior suggest the match, particularly with the whispers of the Ambassador in his ear of maintaining alliances…” he sighed again and stood. “My point is the Commander has been conditioned throughout his youth to obedience. Pushing him in any way… how can you be certain that it was truly his wish and not years of conditioning guiding his actions?”

The Herald groaned and buried her face in Bear’s shoulder. “Ugh. I hate that this stupid shemlen title makes stuff complicated. I should be ‘frolicking in the woods and performing savage sacrifices’ with the rest of my people.” She sighed and then shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I’ll just have to be careful and not hint or mention anything. Consider me an impartial observer.” 

Chuckles nodded. “That would be best.” 

Well, that had gotten grim. Varric shot out a joke. “Do the Dalish frolic?”

Lavellan gave him a dry look. “Do the dwarves all carve their babies from stone?”

“Only the dwarfiest dwarfs.” He laughed, thankful for the lighter mood. “Most of us have to suffer doing it the surfacer way… not that I’m complaining.” 

Bear grinned at him. “I heard that surface dwarves shaved their beards off to knit a child.”

“You did not.” Lavellan punched the giant man’s shoulder. 

“Or in Varric’s case, chest hair.” Sky’s voice called from the path and he looked up to see her leading a man with an undercut and full armor… not Inquisition armor. “Raj, meet Krem. Krem, Raj, otherwise known as ‘Herald of Andraste’.” Sky moved past them and picked up the jug then frowned as she gave it a shake. “He has a message for you- did you seriously drink all of the cider?!”

Bear gave her an innocent expression. “No.”

“There is barely a swallow left!”

Bear raised a finger as a point. “But it is not all gone.” 

Aria narrowed her eyes and then sighed. “Right. Anyway. Important lowlander stuff.” She flapped her hand at the man. “For you.”


	10. Chapter 10

The twins were well connected. It was... A shock to discover, but Cassandra was adamant the pair were recognized and respected by the other Avvar to the point that Aria had been able to avert a fight by… scolding the leader. And then Lugh had ‘suggested’ the Avvar help the Inquisition and they had. They were recognizable and had some sort of influence.

Josephine was not entirely certain how to use this discovery. Aria had ‘claimed’ the Commander, and she wasn’t certain what that entailed. Was it an engagement of sorts? Or perhaps something more… she hesitated to use the word ‘political’ for the Avvar… And according to Leliana, Lugh was oddly evasive about his designs on kidnapping the Herald, and she wasn’t certain what that entailed. 

She did not like being uncertain. Having a pair of respected and renowned Avvar among the Inquisition’s ranks could only be a boon, if she could put her finger on exactly how to spin it. 

And so she was picking her way through the path that led to the twin’s cabin to speak to Lugh. She should at least be able to pull a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ from him. The evidence of the party from the night before was completely gone, the shelters clean, if crude, and the firepit neatly ringed in stones. The only sign of the loud and… extended revelry was a shirt hanging proudly in the tree in front of the cabin. A shirt that Josephine would wager belonged to the Commander. A token? 

She was perhaps not as surprised as she should have been to find the Herald at their fire. The Herald had said that she had been ‘claimed’ as well, and Cassandra reported the pair were nigh inseparable. The woman was draped over the man’s back as if he were a couch, and the man himself seemed pleased by the situation. Though his eyes widened when he saw her. 

She gave him her best smile. “Hello. I have some questions on behalf of the Inquisition. Would you mind speaking with me?”

The man had the same stricken expression as last time and she kept her smile fixed in place until he finally nodded.

“You won’t frighten me if you speak.” She spoke gently, remembering Leli’s words

Lugh flushed and then the Herald punched his shoulder. “Why do you keep doing that?”

He ducked his head and mumbled. “She is just… so delicate.” 

Josephine smiled at the man. “I appreciate your concern, Ser Lugh, but I am not going to break should you speak to me.” He gave her a doubtful look but she forged ahead. “If you wouldn’t mind, I do have some questions about you and your sister’s status among the Avvar.” 

The man blinked and then frowned. “Status?” 

“Your position.”

The frown didn’t clear. “Uh… I- we are not thanes.”

“How well known you are, I think she means.” The Herald supplied.

The frown cleared. “Ah. We both have our legend marks.”

“Could you elaborate?” She eased herself down into a log that was obviously used as seating, careful to make sure her skirt laid properly on the wood. 

The man shifted and the Herald rolled her eyes, clearly thinking he was taking too long to anwer. “Legend marks are the name after their birth name. ‘The Patient’, ‘Sky Touched’, 'Skywatcher’, and so on. It’s how they are remembered. They got theirs fairly younger than others.” 

Interesting. "And your legend mark makes the other Avvar… listen to you?"

Lugh looked affronted. "Nay. We simply speak sense."

A whole sentence! Progress. If unhelpful. “So you are… important to them? You have their respect?”

He faltered again before shrugging and seeming to speak to the ground. "Respect, or fear, depending on how they met us. But we are of no true importance."

“But you…” she frowned and tried to think of how to word it. “You and your sister avoided conflict with Torg Morvansen and his people simply by your presence.”

He waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, Torg is but a whelp seeking a mark. Aria can send a bear running with its tail betwixt it's legs, let alone a fool."

"He did recognize her on sight." The Herald pointed out helpfully.

"He tried to take her for wife. He has a scar 'cross his chest for the effort." The man seemed to have an easier time answering the herald. 

She was feeling a little frustrated as she tried to make sense of this. "And the others? You convinced them to help.”

"Some be seeking their marks, others simply wish to aid the Lady. I showed a path and they took it." He shrugged again.

“I see…” she tapped the base of her quill against her clipboard in thought. There just had to be something. “And… who are your parents?” 

"Thane Svarah Sun Hair and Bjorn Leifsen ." He said proudly. "Of Stone Bear Hold."

Ah, she could work with this. “Thane Sun-Hair, excellent.” From her conversation with Torg Morvansen upon his arrival she was able to piece together some of their clan titles and that their mother was a ‘Thane’ meant she was a leader of some sort in their Hold. “Stone Bear Hold? Would you say it’s fairly large in comparison to other Holds?”

Lugh frowned and shrugged. “Fairly.”

Workable. 

  
  
  
  


The Herald and her chosen companions were preparing to travel to the Storm Coast in the morning to recruit a mercenary company to bolster their ranks. Cullen wasn’t very keen on hiring a mercenary band, most were no better than bandits, but apparently Leliana had heard of this group and was impressed. Not many impressed the Nightingale. So when the Herald brought it to their attention he said nothing.

Aria was following him as he busied himself with the evenings reports and soldiers scheduling, repeating her ‘reminders’ of how to care for himself. He was beginning to think that her loud and insistent demands were… her way of caring? Perhaps? Her brother seemed to take them as such, and if she had… ‘claimed’ him then her strident demands were just her… caring? Perhaps? He was not sure how exactly the avvar woman thought. 

He had noticed though that since the… eventful night, which he could still not remember but had gathered from others stories that she had in some way ‘laid claim’, he had not been propositioned by any more of the Avvar… their ‘roaming eyes’ and appreciative glances, however, had not stopped. At least he didn’t have to fumble through half a dozen refusals a day. 

At the third reminder that the water he drank needed to be boiled beforehand, he sighed and half jokingly repeated the phrase he had heard his mother say often when his father had been speaking over long. “Yes, Dear.” 

He was shocked when her voice cut off mid sentence. He turned to look over his shoulder and found her staring at him with her mouth open, and as he watched, a flush spread over her face and her jaw snapped shut. He blinked at her, shocked to see her silent. “Did I… fluster you?” 

Her blush deepened and her mouth closed and opened again before she let out a quiet squeaking noise in the back of her throat. He grinned but still not quite believing it. “I did, didn’t I?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Darling.” 

She let out the squeaking noise again and then turned on her heel and  _ ran _ . 

Well… that… he should not have been grinning but, Maker… she was flustered! He had  _ flustered _ her to silence. The thought had him smiling through the rest of the usually tedious paperwork.

Aria Sky Touched was flustered. 

  
  
  


Lugh was packing. The storm coast sounded… wet. They would likely need their oiled skins, plenty of rations that would not ruin should it get wet. He took the time to ward the chest of their grimoires. He did not want to risk them getting ruined by foul weather by bringing them, or to have people snooping through them during their absence.

“You’re very thorough.” Raj spoke from her bedroll. She had been watching him since he began packing after supper. 

“A stitch made with time, saves the nine.” He replied. It had been a flippant comment made by Aria when she was still in the form of a child, and he took great delight in teasing her with it as outside of her science, she had no patience. 

Raj cocked her head to the side in thought and then her eyes lit up. “Oh, like, ‘the slow step speeds the hunt’?” 

“Aye. I like that.” It lent an air of caution to the reminder of methodical patience. 

He continued packing and could feel Raj’s eyes on him as he finished tying the last pack closed. He heard the sigh and looked over just in time to see her fall back in her bedroll and stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know how I’m going to get used to sharing a tent with Cassandra again.”

He frowned at her in concerned confusion. She had been staying with them since the first night. He knew that company when she slept was comforting to her. “Have we offended you?”

Raj looked over at him and her eyes widened in panic as she sat up. “What? No! No no. I just…” she looked down at her hands that had started twisting in her lap. “It… the Shemlen they… don’t think it’s… proper? I don’t understand it, but Josephine said it looks bad and I…” she sighed and it sounded defeated. 

“Lowlanders think it right to spit at elves and it wrong to take care of cleanliness.” He couldn’t help a slight scoff. “I would not give much heed to their thoughts. If it be what you wish, sleep where you will, but if it is because of lowlander foolishness, I can teach you a gesture to show them.” 

Raj looked down at her hands again but looked thoughtful as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Then after a moment resolve flashed in her eyes as she seemed to nod to herself. “Alright… yeah. We’ll just continue as we have been and if-“ she shook her head and huffed a small laugh. “Well, there’s nothing she can really do is there? And I don’t think Solas or Varric care one whit where I sleep.”

He smiled at her, glad she was doing as she wished. “Though I believe you capable of handling a few gossiping lowlanders, I am willing to act frightening on your behalf if need be.” 

She laughed and fell backward again into the bedroll. “Oh I have no doubt, between your sheer size and Aria’s… well, Aria, no one will dare question twice.”

“I never did understand the lowlander’s obsession with both hiding who they bed, and yet also desiring to know who bedded who.” He mused. “Or the way they think that sharing a bed means one is being bedded.” He paused and mulled over that sentence. “Bed is a very flexible word.” 

Raj stared at him for a moment before she busted out into giggles that bordered hysterical and he watched her for a moment in amusement as she couldn’t seem to stop. He was about to ask if she could breathe, but just as he opened his mouth the door flew open and slammed shut. “Lugh?!”

He frowned at the sound of Aria’s strained tone of voice and leaned over the loft to look down and found her leaning against the door with a very… was that fright? “Sister?”

Aria’s eyes snapped up to look at him and she swallowed hard and her mouth worked before she could get a word formed. “You- he- did-? was there…?” she swallowed again and growled in what seemed like frustration. “Was there rope?” 

Ah, something to do with Godendwlid then. Lugh glanced at their mostly stripped sleeping area and then shrugged. “I saw none, and see none now, but the two of you were abed ere I returned from watching over the games. I heard no talk of a wedding either.” 

Aria ran a hand over her face and let out what sounded like a mostly relieved breath… but she still looked distraught over something. 

“Did he try for over much?” Lugh didn’t think the man was that sort, but she truly looked distressed. 

“What? No.” She frowned and shook her head. “He just…” her face suddenly looked as red as her hair and she closed her eyes tightly and switched to their twin speak. “ _ I am an idiot. _ ”

Raj draped herself over the edge of the loft. “Does this have to do with the blue paint and sniffing? Because I have questions about that.” 

Lugh didn’t think it possible but Aria’s eyes snapped open and her mouth began opening and closing like a fish. “B- b- blue- Blue paint?”

Raj’s eyes narrowed but she kept her tone nonchalant. “Yeah, in swirls, all over the Commander when we found you two. What does it mean?” 

Aria’s eyes widened in horror and panic, “Swirls? You- He- “ she snapped her mouth closed and groaned as she slid down the door to sit on the ground. “ _ FUCK _ !” 

Interesting. 

  
  
  


The Storm coast, stormy as the name implies. Varric had not realized before this little venture that there were many different types of rain. There was stinging rain, fat drenching rain, light drizzling rain, whipping ‘on one side then the other’ rain, a rain that was like a fine mist, seriously he could probably now write a book just on the subject of different types of rain. The common denominator of them all being that you got just as wet in one as the other. 

For once everyone in the party seemed to be just as miserable as him, and if not because of the weather ‘at least on the dear Seeker’s case’ because of the Herald’s ‘blatant disregard for propriety’ as she put it the first night out and the Herald had set her jaw and pulled her bedroll from the tent the Seeker had placed it in and very deliberately moved it into Bear and Sky’s tent, eyes flashing like a rebel challenging the Seeker to argue. ‘Rebel’… huh ‘Rebel’. Yeah, that worked quite nicely. Ever since the kid’s comment about her dislike of the title he had been wracking his brain for a suitable nickname, but nothing had jumped out at him until now. 

Bear and Sky had both practically beamed like proud parents after her, and then Bear had turned and fixed the Seeker with the blandest, most threatening smile Varric had ever seen when she opened her mouth to protest. It was gold… and he would have written it down if his paper hadn’t been soaked through and the ink would run. 

Which, come to think of it, Bear and Sky’s ever present patchwork books hadn’t been pulled out once on this trip. They had known this would be a problem. They had known and hadn’t shared with the rest of them, and now his new notebook was falling apart and his butt was perpetually damp.

Deciding to do his part to distract the good Seek from glaring in the Avvar’s direction as they rode, he complained in Bear’s direction. “Why didn’t you two warn me that bringing paper was useless?”

Bear blinked and then looked up at the sky and then back at him. “The name…  _ is _ the ‘Storm Coast’.” 

“Names can be deceiving.” He grumbled and pulled his duster closer, grateful he had oiled it recently.

“ _ Jee _ , I wonder what might be on the mysterious Path of Spiders.” Aria said in a teasing tone. “I guess we will never know what mysterious monster lurks in the Path of Spiders.” 

Bear nodded in faux graveness. “I wager it be giant nugs.” 

Chuckles looked back from where he rode ahead with the Seeker looking immensely amused. “The moral I believe, is to best err on the side of caution Master Tethras.” 

“Hope for the best, yet prepare for the worst.” Sky said cheerfully. 

“Sharpen the sword but pray it stays sheathed.” Raj, Rebel, said from Lugh’s shoulders. 

“If anything can go wrong, it will.” Lugh added. 

“Murphy’s law.” Aria nodded sagely. 

“Well, whoever Murphy is, he sounds like a fatalistic ponse.” Sera grumpily called from her horse… the archer looked very much like a wet cat clinging to the back of a horse that dwarfed her. 

“Yet he probably died of old age rather than wandering under a cliff that would be perfect for dropping an ambush.” Bear said just as cheerfully as Sera was grumpy, and pointed at the cliff in question.

“Our scouts would have warned us if there was danger about.” The Seeker said tersely. 

“Your scouts also cannot smell past their own ass.” Lugh shrugged, his eyes fixed on the cliff edge.

Sky edged her mount closer to Bear. “ _ Yoo seethet _ ?”

Bear nodded. “ _ Eye theenk ihtz ah scowt. _ ” The pair exchanged glances and then he spoke in Common, his tone perfectly casual. “Besides, the way we need to go is that way.” He pointed to a path sloping downward. 

Rebel made a dramatic gasping noise. “You said ‘ass’!”

“Fuck. So I did. My sincerest apologies.”

The pair were adorable together. Of course, seeing the Seekers jaw clench in effort to stay quiet didn’t have any bearing on his approval.

Harding’s people had indeed made camp… and looked just as wet and miserable as he felt. He waited while Rebel, yup, that was it, spoke to Harding and watched a scout struggling to keep a fire going under a tarp they had spread out between trees. 

Sky dismounted and moved to ‘Charlie’s’ head to absently rub the undead thing’s cheek and neck as she starred in the direction of the sea with a far away look… as if she was searching for something.

Bear went to stand by her side for a moment and then shrugged. "’A display’, he said. If I wished to show my skill, I would lay a fight, but would have to be well timed."

Sky nodded, still looking off towards the shore. “Ehtz fahg gee, naht ahz cuhleer."

Bear shrugged. "We will see." He then turned and smiled at Rebel who had finished her conversation with Harding and was headed their way.

“Some of our men went missing, we’re going to look for them in the morning.”

Varric kept an ear on their conversation, the twins acting as if their earlier words had not been uttered and a few moments later a scout came into the camp in a hurry and saluted Rebel. "Ser, there's a battle just begun on the beach. It’s the Tevinters we’ve been keeping an eye on." 

Sky sighed and mounted Charlie easily while everyone else rushed for their horses. "That is our date, I wager."

Varric made a mental note not to bet lightly with Sky, she had hit the nail right on the head with that comment. The mercenary company they were here to meet was fighting the Tevinter forces, and mowing right through them. Rebel moved as if to go help but Lugh put his hand on her shoulder. "They are making a showing, let them- what the fuck is that?!" 

Aria chuckled and leaned against Charlie’s neck. “That, my dearest brother, is a Qunari… an impressive one at that.”

"Is that a head dress?" Lugh was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as if he wanted to sprint over to the qunari cutting through people with a battle ax.

"Nope." Sky smirked. “Horns, most Qunari have them, some are hornless but not many.”

"I have so many questions." Lugh patted his clothing. "And no paper..."

Chuckles looked away from the battle to turn and give them a narrowed look. “How is it, if you have never left the Basin before now, that you know things he does not?”

Sky blinked at him and opened her mouth but Bear answered. “She was more interested in other cultures than I.”

Chuckles looked at them thoughtfully for a moment before returning his gaze to the battle… which was starting to taper off, the Mercenary company coming out smelling like roses. Bear was still doing the little toe bounce thing until the big, bigger than the Arishok had been, qunari approached them, and then he went utterly still. It reminded Varric of Blondie’s cat right before it pounced. 

“Inquisition!” The qunari shouted as he sauntered up and Raj’s mouth fell open before she looked between Bear and the guy with a thoughtful look. “This is probably very rude, but would you mind standing back to back with him? I want to see who’s taller.” 

Sky barked a laugh and slid down from Charlie’s saddle. “Perhaps after introductions are made, Raj.” The Qunari’s eyes immediately moved to size Sky up. “The Iron Bull?”

The Iron Bull grinned and tilted his head slightly. “Horns give it away.”

Bear moved back onto his toes and his mouth opened but Rebel elbowed him and he deflated and shut his mouth. 

Iron Bull glanced at him and chuckled before turning his eyes back on Sky who raised an eyebrow at him. “So you're the Inquisition?”

The Seeker looked as if she was about to say something but Rebel elbowed her too. It was hilarious.

“Can a single person be the Inquisition?” Sky tilted her head the same direction he had and gave him a slight smile. “But I’m not part of the Inquisition. I just follow her.” She gestured to Rebel.

Iron Bull, blinked then laughed, a deep belly laugh. “Oh, now  _ that _ makes sense. I heard the Herald was an elf but you threw me taking charge like that.”

Varric could definitely see how that could happen. Sky was an imposing woman, even without an undead horse and braids and fur. He mentally put the Seeker in Avvar armor and then immediately banished the thought from his mind. That was terrifying. 

“She’s practically my little sister at this point.” Sky shrugged, and both Bear and Rebel eyebrows flew up.

“Really?” She looked up at Bear, who stuttered something about the sky and blushed. 

“Good to know.” The Iron Bull winked… a slow blink with a slight dip of his head, winking with one eye was apparently a skill, at her and turned his attention to Rebel. 

He opened his mouth to speak but Rebel got there first. “So you’re the Chargers? Good fight.”

“Good scouts too.” Bear added.

The Iron Bull’s eye narrowed slightly before he muttered. “Dammit, Skinner.” 

Sky smirked and leaned back against ‘Charlie’ who hadn’t moved since she dismounted… seriously not even a tail swish or ear flick. “They stayed mostly out of sight… wouldn’t have noticed if the wind wasn’t at their back.”

“You… smelled her?” The Iron Bull looked impressed.

“It’s not hard. Lowlanders are filthy.” Bear grumbled, then was elbowed by Rebel sharply enough for him to rub his side and give her a wounded expression.

“Alright, even I know that was a little rude.”

“Just because something is true does not mean one should say it, brother.” Sky rolled her eyes.

Bear gave her a rude gesture with a flat expression and Rebel rolled her eyes. “I feel like we’re getting off subject. Hiring.” 

Iron Bull laughed again and everything about the guy’s body language read that he was an easy going sort of guy, but his eyes… eye was sharp. He opened his mouth again but didn’t finish before the man, Krem, the one that delivered the message, walked up and spoke. “Throat cutters are done, chief.” 

Iron Bull closed his mouth and suddenly looked frustrated. “Dammit Krem, we haven’t sat down to drink yet.” 

“You looked uncomfortable. I was just speeding things along.” the man shrugged then nodded to Bear and Sky. “He had us all rehearse. Skinner had to play Ra- uh the Herald… should’ve seen it.” 

Sky suddenly snapped her fingers as if remembering something and looking entirely too amused about it. “Oh, The spy! The uh, benhissy or something.” 

“Ben Hassrath.” The Iron Bull corrected, then paused. “Huh. Uh… I was going to tell you that bit myself…” 

Ah, now this was interesting… and he still did not have paper. 

“A spy!?” The Seeker’s voice could likely be heard clear to Kirkwall. 

Maybe he could fund someone to work on waterproof paper. It’s true you don’t realize a need for something until you are without. And right now was a damn good story with no way to take note. 


	11. Chapter 11

The Herald was an elf… that was what the reports said, but sometimes reports got muddled and a good spy learned to play things by ear. Also, that shit Krem had completely avoided any mention of the Herald’s appearance while reporting. 

The redhead was not the Herald, though anyone could have made that mistake. The Herald had worn gloves and practically hid behind the Avvar warrior and the Redhead had ridden in on a horse with a sword ran through its head and just… taken charge, it was hot, but misleading. Redhead was not in charge, and wasn’t part of the Inquisition. She just followed the Herald. Her ‘brother’ (he wasn’t sure yet if that was the avvar ‘brethren’ brother or her actual brother), also followed the Herald. Literally. Everywhere. When he didn’t follow her, she followed him. Anyway, he was practically vibrating with suppressed questions. 

He did eventually get to do his ‘front line bodyguard’ speech…. but the Herald Raj-something, (the Avvar called her Raj, the dwarf (Varric Tethras, very good author) called her Rebel, and everyone else called her ‘The Herald’ and didn’t seem to notice the little crease between her eyebrows every time they did.) She had looked at the Avvar warrior, and then at him with a wry twist to her mouth. “I already have Lugh.” She gestured at the warrior. “He’s just as big.”

“But I have horns.” He said, an offhanded joke that might make her feel at ease. 

The warrior was still staring at him, but at the comment let out a sigh. “He’s right. He does.” He opened his mouth and bounced on his toes a little, then deflated and closed his mouth at a sharp look from the redhead. 

Guy was curious. Probably hadn’t seen a qunari before.

It took more convincing than he expected and the girl looked like she was about to turn him down, especially with the Seeker, (Pentagast the dragon slayer, that one had already made a name for herself), making those disapproving noises every time he spoke. Raj looked torn and then resigned and he thought she was going to turn him down when the warrior leaned way down and just whispered. “But… science?” 

The Herald wavered, and then shrugged. “You’re hired on the condition that you answer his questions… and run all your reports through our Spymaster.” 

And just like that he was in… because the warrior was curious. He’d take it. “Sounds good to me.” 

“So I can ask now?” The warrior did the bouncing thing again. It was kind of cute. 

The Redhead sighed. “At least give him your name first.” 

“I’m Lugh the Patient. Can you feel sensation in your horns? Or does the feeling come from where it connects to your skull? Does it feel as when you strike your elbow when you headbutt? When do they grow in? Is it when you begin to mature? Or is it seasonal?” His eyes widened. “ _ Do _ they fall off?” 

Oh… this was not idle curiosity… This was going to take a while.

The bald elf chuckled. “Ah, it is much more amusing from outside his line of question.” 

“Try living with him.” Redhead laughed and slapped Krem’s shoulder. “Casks?”

“Oy, I got a question,” the blonde elf, (archer, taller than Dalish, shorter than the bald elf, red handkerchief in her waistband. Red Jenny probably. Interesting.) “What are your women like? Cuz’ woof.” (Swings the other way.) 

The Avvar’s eyes widened and glazed over a little. “Oh… yeah, what are your women like?”

The Iron Bull didn’t often feel wrong footed, but… well, he was a bit off balance right now and just trying to roll with the punches. He was about to sit down as Krem brought over mugs of ale but the Herald piped up, “Wait! Who’s taller?” 

“Bull has horns, they add height.” The Redhead (still hadn’t gotten a name) spoke up as she accepted a mug from Krem, only to grimace and pass it back. Interesting, even more so was the way she shortened his name. Not ‘The Iron Bull’ not ‘Iron Bull’ just ‘Bull’.

“This is ridiculous, we should-”

“No, no, now I’m curious too, Seeker.” The dwarf interrupted Pentaghast. 

Somehow The Iron Bull ended up standing back to back with the Avvar warrior for Krem to declare they were even, except for the horns. After, he very quickly realized that the warrior, Lugh, was staring at him expectantly. After a moment he spoke. “Did I ask too quickly? I can repeat them.” 

Right. Questions. 

It went on for most of the evening until they camped, and then only stopped because Red (‘Sky’ Lugh called her once.) asked him to give it a rest for her ears’ sake. There were questions about qunari horns, about their skin, which led to in depth questioning on Vitaar, which when The Iron Bull admitted he didn’t know how it worked seemed to disappoint the man, which led to questions on who  _ did _ know, which led to questions on the Qun, which…

“Look, I’m not here to convert you.”

Lugh blinked at him and then laughed. “I do not wish to convert. I simply wish to know.” 

“So I gathered.” He said dryly. “Why do they call you the Patient instead of the Curious?”

“Because he is patient enough to wear answers out of stone.” Sky muttered as she lit the damp firewood on fire with a flick of her hand. 

Oh… perfect. “Oh, you’re an Avvar mage, Augry? Augie? Something.”

She threw back her head and laughed, even Lugh chuckled and moved back a bit, apparently ready to give the questions a rest. “No.” She grinned at him and took a sip from her mug. (She had used her own mug to drink, apparently the one Krem had handed her had been ‘greasy’.) “Not all mages are Augers, Auger is a position, but not quite… a wise person, a medium between us and the gods.”

“She is too prone to arguing with the gods to be a good auger.” Lugh said as he methodically washed out a mug with soap and water before filling it and handing it to the herald. 

She huffed and leaned back against the rock that Raj was perched on next to Lugh. “Tis not my fault they are so often wrong.” (The three of them seemed accustomed to sitting squished together, he would bet on one or both of them were doing the elf if it wasn’t for the way the redhead shot teasing glances at her brother, and he would blush. Yeah nothing happening there… yet.) 

“So if you’re ‘just a mage’ where’s your staff?” 

“I don’t need one.” She shrugged and patted her bow that was laid out beside her. “Besides being a banner that declares you a danger to most Lowlanders, tis simply a cumbersome glowing stick.” 

Dalish opened her mouth indignantly, then shut it just as abruptly and he could see Krem lean over to whisper something that made her turn and punch his arm.

“So… mage, no staff. Gotcha.” 

“Do Qunari mages use staves?” Lugh asked, and then grunted when Raj dug her elbow into his stomach. 

“Just a few minutes peace?” 

“Qunari mages are bound in chains like animals the moment their magic manifests and their mouths are sewn shut.” The elf mage, Solas spoke in a biting tone. The guy had been shooting disapproving glances in their direction since Lugh started his interrogation. 

Lugh started in obvious horror, his arm moving in front of his sister, and the Herald by proximity, in an instinctively protective gesture. (He immediately believed the mage’s words.) Sky shoved at his arm with an eye roll. “Bull isn’t going to stitch me up when you aren’t looking, brother, and the gods themselves could not protect the Qunari who tried.” 

Interesting… although the image of the redhead bound, mouth gagged, was a thought he might revisit later. “Nope, not unless she asked.” He punctuated his word by sending her a wink and suggestive smirk.

The elf mage actually glared at him, his knuckles turning white as his grip on his staff tightened. Lugh’s mouth tightened. “If she be wounded that badly I would tend it.” 

Red spit her drink through her nose, her eyes watering as she gasped and her hands flew to her nose. Ale burned like a bitch when that happened. And Raj burst into laughter and patted Lugh’s arm in a sloppy way that suggested the drink was starting to affect her. “You are so precious!”

The guy’s ears turned pink, but he kept watching him now, an assessing look rather than curious. (He would be dangerous if anything happened to his sister.) Things subtly shifted after that. The warrior kept asking questions, but they had turned sharp, more prying into weaknesses and thought patterns and habits of Qunari, scattered among the more benign questions about food and fashion. He wasn’t just curious anymore, his questions wary and methodical, and just as numerous as before, with the same tendency to be repeated, if worded differently, if the answer The Iron Bull gave wasn’t to his satisfaction. And he had to answer best he could, he had seen the interaction when the discussion of hiring him came up. He was here for Lugh’s curiosity, and he needed this in. 

Solas, the elf mage, seemed actually pleased with the change of tone to his questions, tossing a few off handed questions himself that would direct Lugh down a new, in depth line of question. Red recovered and seemed content to just sit back and listen, though somehow her, Krem, Dalish and Sera, (the Red Jenny) started a game of sorts tossing a small stone back and forth between each other.

“So if Qunari do not dream, does that mean they have a certain resistance to magic? How do you deal with the gods?”

“Uh, I mean, our skin’s thick enough we don’t burn or get shocked as easy but we don’t have gods. Rules and laws give purpose. No gods.”

“So obedience would be considered a virtue? Something to strive for?” 

He was about to answer when he realized what the guy was angling for. How to break a qunari’s mind. “Shit. You would be an amazing Ben Hassrath.” 

Lugh frowned, “I have gathered I would be put down before anyone spoke to me long enough to find out.”

“Nah, you may be bas, but-”

Lugh opened his hand and a spark of lightning flickered in his palm.

Oh.

Shit. 

“Put down.” Lugh closed his hand and the spark dissipated. “Qun is not for me.”

“Again, not trying to convert.” Dammit, this wasn’t helping him at all. “Wouldn’t have mentioned any of that if you hadn’t asked.”

Lugh’s smile was grim. “No. But tis good to know. Better the trap you see than the one hidden in the snow.” 

“A snake in the path is safer than one in the brush.” Raj added sleepily from where she was curled against his side (she got drunk easy) and Lugh’s eyes moved to her, softening as he pulled her cup from her cheek and set it aside.

“I like that one too.” 

“ _ Heez guhd _ ,” Red said, tossing the rock back to Dalish. “ _ Loyehltee tu’iht ehz Frahjihl _ .” 

“ _ Howdu wee brayk iht thehn? Iht sowndz bahd _ .” Lugh grumbled, then caught Raj as her head slipped from his arm. 

(That was not any language he had ever heard before.) 

She caught the stone from Krem without turning to look at her brother. “ _ Hehz chaynz Ahr hehz’own tu brayk.” _

The man actually turned and stuck his tongue out at her. “Bullshit.” 

“But true.” She shrugged, unconcerned. “The path will show itself, in time.”

“Do you two always have to be so la de da dramatic?” The Red Jenny groused as she caught the stone from Red..

Bull noted that he was not the only one that looked thrown by the pair’s conversion. Solas had his head cocked ever so slightly, and his eyes looked unfocused as if he were trying to work out its meaning and Tethras was staring at what looked like a soggy notepad with a forlorn expression. The Seeker had long since retired to her tent, the women didn’t seem inclined to drink with them.

Lugh suddenly spoke, startling the dwarf. “Would it trouble you if I tried a spell on your book? It may destroy it, or it may help for a short while.” 

Varric Tethras waved the soggy thing. “Be my guest. It’s useless already. So, go right ahead.” 

The Avvar concentrated and then Varric startled as a stream of water swirled away from the book and dropped to the ground. “Shit! It’s dry!”

“Forgive me for not thinking of it sooner.” 

Dalish leaned forward eagerly. “I thought you were a Storm Mage?”

Lugh shrugged, “Who’s to say one cannot master more than one element? I was curious about the different branches, so I learned.”

“Yup, they should have named you the Curious.” Bull huffed and stood, stretching. It was not often that he felt mentally exhausted but the Avvar seemed adept at throwing him… and enjoyed it.

“Indeed.” The elf mage muttered with the air of one who had been on the receiving end of the Avvar’s questioning. 

“I tried to get them to call him that, but apparently it was not impressive enough.” Red sighed and tossed the stone to Dalish before standing herself, slightly wobbly in rising, she was tipsy, though she had only slowly sipped her ale. “Nobody believed me that he talked that much.”

“They had little I wished to know.” Lugh shrugged as he very gently gathered up the unconscious Herald and stood. (The siblings were very in tune with each other) “I thank you for your answers.” He inclined his head slightly and carried the elf girl off to his tent, followed closely by Red. (All three slept in the same tent, two mages and a rogue)

The Iron Bull rubbed his eye, half in a show of weakness to put the others at ease, half in earnest exhaustion. “Shit, the kid is smart.” 

When he looked up, both the elf mage and the dwarf were watching him with similar calculating expressions. He half expected them to spout some threat if he messed with the Herald or something, but the mage just inclined his head slightly and left to his tent, and the dwarf chuckled. 

“Well, you caught on faster than the rest of us. Get some rest, Tiny. You’re gonna have another long day of questions tomorrow.” 

Despite the dwarf’s warning, he didn’t sleep well, too busy sorting through the impressions and information of the day, as well as running through some of his answers to the Avvar and wincing at how much he had given away, also his bedroll was damp. (The kid had conjured lightning after he had said he was resistant to lightning, and then had shown he was skilled in other types of magic.)

He was the first out of his tent in the morning, save for the watches, and had to stop and frown at the fire, which was still burning merrily despite the fine mist of rain permeating the air. Magic. He would bet the kid had used that water trick on  _ his _ bedroll. He set about making himself and Krem some coffee, and it was just getting to a nice brew when Red stumbled out of the tent with wide eyes. “Do I smell  _ Kawfee _ ?”

“Uh, I don’t know but I’m making coffee.” 

She blinked at him then asked in a rush. “Roasted beans, ground down then boiled to make a strong and bitter drink?”

“Yup.” How did she know about coffee? It wasn’t like there were Avvar in Seheron or exotic food stuffs merchants in the mountains. 

She clasped her hands together. “I would sell my soul for a cup of that.” 

Not a funny thing to hear a mage say… “I’d settle for a kiss? I’ll let it go cheap.”

“Okay. Give me.” She paused before taking the offered cup and then added. “You will have to wash your mouth first.” 

Huh. Alright. Weird, but not the weirdest request he’d been asked to do before kissing someone. “Sure, Red.” 

“No.”

Okay. Not Red.

  
  
  


Raj had woken up when Aria had stumbled out of the tent like she was in desperate need for a duck behind a bush, but had wanted to stay in bed a little longer. Lugh had dried out the bedrolls, and he was warm. But barely a minute passed before Lugh’s arm fell where Aria had been, and then he bolted upright, knocking her off of him, and scrambled out of the tent. 

“I’m fairly certain he’s not going to stitch her up in the middle of our camp!” She called after him grumpily. Then sighed and crawled out after him. Aria was sitting by the campfire, holding a mug to her face and looking absolutely blissful. The Iron Bull was watching her in clear amusement.

“Sky?” Lugh approached her with a sharp glance at The Iron Bull.

“Lugh… coffee! Try it!” Aria’s voice sounded dreamy.

Lugh took the cup from her and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose slightly before taking a sip and then grimacing. “Tis bitter. Is it medicinal?” 

“Uh-uh. Just amazing. It wakes you up and gives you energy and is very addicting.” Her tone even sounded dreamy. 

Lugh raised his eyebrows and passed the cup back to her. “Enjoy your new vice.” 

Raj mourned the loss of her warm pillow and went to peer into Aria’s cup. It was filled with a dark, almost black liquid. “Can I try?”

Aria let her try a sip, but she almost immediately spat it out as the bitter taste clung to her tongue and to the roof of her mouth until it felt like she was breathing the bitter stuff. “Eck, that’s foul.” 

“Heretics.” Aria grumbled and snatched the cup back, sipping it and then looked as if she were two seconds away from going boneless. 

Raj took some of the drinking water and swished her mouth out but the bitter taste still lingered. Why would she want to drink that? There were spells to wake someone up, even she knew that! She exchanged bewildered looks with Lugh, who shrugged and started preparing breakfast. Aria took her time sipping the ‘coffee’, the entire time The Iron Bull eyed her curiously. 

Finally, she set the cup aside and sighed happily. “Worth it.” She took her Shine of the Moon potion vial from her belt and handed it to The Iron Bull. “Swish and spit, don’t swallow.”

“That’s what she said.” He huffed, but popped the cap off and sniffed, then raised his eyebrows. “This is Maraas-Lok, why wouldn’t I swallow?”

“It’s not prepared properly, it’ll make you go blind.”

“That’s half the fun of the drink.” He scoffed, but took a swig and swished for a few seconds before spitting, though he seemed disappointed. “Damn, that’s too good to waste…” 

“Wait, you drink that?” Lugh frowned and looked at Aria, “Will it make you go blind?”

“It can, you can’t drink too much, especially the first batch. That is given to the healers.” The Iron Bull shrugged. “But you don’t need to drink too much for a good time.” 

“Speaking of…” Aria stood up. “Impress me, Iron Bull.” 

Raj felt her face heat up and her mouth fall open when the Qunari made a pleased rumbling noise and then… grabbed Aria and kissed her. Thoroughly. 

“What- what are you doing?” Lugh’s voice cracked slightly.

The Iron Bull let Aria go with a pat to her butt and a pleased grin. “Collecting.”

Aria slapped his hand and then looked at Lugh, a slight flush to her cheeks. “Prehensile tongue.”

“Huh.” Lugh tilted his head curiously at The Iron Bull, then shook it. “No.” 

“I’ll leave the other anatomy questions to you.” Aria said dryly and then waved. “Good morning, Solas.” 

Raj turned to see Solas mouth opened slightly and bent as if he was just exiting the tent when he froze. The tips of his ears colored and he cleared his throat before straightening. “On dhea… good morning.” He nodded to Lugh and her before moving toward the fire. “I seem to have missed something this morning?”

“She’s apparently obsessed with this weird bitter drink. She gets all…” Raj imitated a breathy sigh. “Like that.” 

Solas immediately frowned and picked up the pot and sniffed it before narrowing his eyes at Bull and asking. “Aria, How do you feel?”

“ _ Kaffehnaytehd _ and kissed breathless.” She said happily. 

“I tried some, there is nothing besides… whatever it is made of.” Lugh grimaced.

“Coffee beans.” Aria supplied. “And no, he did not drug me. It was a trade.”

“One I’m happy to make again.” Bull laughed and sat back down with a satisfied expression.

Lugh grunted in amusement and then pushed up from the fire and brought over a bowl of porridge thick with nuts and… “Is that butter?”

He nodded, obviously pleased with himself. “Aye. And honey.”

This… was the most expensive bowl of breakfast she had ever been handed. (She didn’t count the stuff Vivienne had tried to feed her because that had been gross and not food.) “Oh. Thank you. This is way more than I can eat though.”

His ears turned pink but he covered by prodding her bicep with his finger. “You are too thin.”

“I’m an elf.” She rolled her eyes. If he was trying to bring her up to Avvar standards, it was going to fail miserably. 

“An underfed one.” Aria said. “Seriously, you would think if they were going to call you their Chosen they would at least make sure you were fed properly.” She jerked her chin at Solas. “He is well fed and healthy.”

Raj blinked and looked at Solas who raised his eyebrow at her scrutiny. He was taller than most elves she had seen. Were his shoulders broader? “Well, he’s tall, but with all those layers it’s kinda hard to tell.”

“Aye.” Aria laughed then looked at the pot of coffee consideringly. “Will the crash be worth it?” 

“Eat your breakfast.” Lugh huffed and passed a bowl to her. “Tis better for you than… whatever that be.”

  
  
  
  


He had not expected… that.

The conversation the night before had led him to believe Lugh and Aria, even the Herald, would be cautious when dealing with the Qunari. To wake at the sounds of conversation outside his tent and emerge to find Aria and the Qunari… entangled was… unsettling. He wasn’t sure if he was more or less unsettled to find it had been an exchange. 

The Qunari, The Iron Bull, (even the name was a title, likely a reminder that he was still part of the Qun though distanced as a spy.) had seemed quite self satisfied throughout the rest of their morning meal, though Aria acted much the same, as if nothing of consequence had taken place. Which depending on one's culture, perhaps nothing had. He remembered the Avvar had vastly different views on attraction and physical needs than other cultures but he had thought that time might have changed that. Apparently not. 

Mercy’s Crest was a fairly easy pendant to construct… mostly due to Lugh’s argument that they should try not to cause yet more bloodshed and it would be quicker to make with use of magic versus waiting for a smith to craft it. The man was a boon and the Herald seemed inclined to listen, telling the Seeker (who was very ready to charge into their gate without) it made sense and the sooner they dealt with the Blades the sooner their men would be out of danger. 

Solas ended up being the one who crafted it, with Aria’s help. Lugh did not have the knack for shaping metal, and Aria had the skill needed to produce and control the heat, but not the patience for shaping. So he had shaped while she had turned the metal into something workable. It took a few hours, but they succeeded, and when he looked up, Lugh was watching with that expression that meant questions were being composed. 

Aria had collapsed against one of the boulders, looking exhausted and drawn. She had a lot of talent but she had stretched herself farther than might have been wise for a mage of this era, despite her talent, she was limited. As was he. Such a simple task would not have… but this world was broken and he was near his own exhaustion. 

Her brother went to her side and cast a rejuvenation spell on her, but she waved her hand. “Magic. I’ll have to use my bow.” She closed her eyes and then shook her whole body. “Ugh, I hate those spells.”

Lugh held up his hand in offer, but Solas waved him away. He did not need it. Nor did he want the curious mage’s magic so close to his own, lest it breed yet more questions he was not ready to handle.

“I have not seen mages hold a spell so long before.” The Seeker spoke from where she sat by the fire, a slight hint of concern in her voice. 

Aria let her head fall back with a soft thud against the stone. “I would bow and accept your applause, but I fear the only reason you have not seen such it that mages from your circles are never allowed more than small bursts. Tis as a muscle you flex and strengthen.”

“As children we would conjure lights and see who could maintain them the longest.” Lugh said as he offered Aria a water skin. “I often won.”

“Because I got bored.” Aria narrowed her eyes at him and took the skin.

“As you say.” He smirked. 

She stuck her tongue out at him before drinking deeply and handing the skin back. “So… rest tonight or go straight to the Blade with the challenge?”

“I think you need the rest.” The Herald said with concern.

Aria waved her hand again. “Nay, I just will use my bow. My body be fit.” Solas noted that when she felt tired or exhausted her speech became more accented as Lugh’s and less structured.

The Herald did not look convinced, but Lugh looked at his sister appraisingly and nodded. “Aye, she is good as any with her bow and blades.” 

Aria scoffed. “As good as any? I be better than most.”

“As you say.” Lugh said dryly.

“Oy! You’re not better than me with a bow!” Sera scoffed and bit into an apple with a loud crunch before speaking around the bite, “Take you on any day.”

“Than most.” Aria laughed and pushed herself to her feet with a grimace. “You are not most, but I accept… later.”

“Well… if you’re sure, I’d rather deal with this as soon as possible.” The Herald said uncertainly. She was growing more confident as the days passed, but still hesitated to lead. 

When they approached, the Herald held the crest aloft so that it was clearly visible, and they were given safe passage into the… he hesitated to call it a fort, the place was nothing more than shacks, surrounded by poles for a wall. The leader was a large man, possibly Avvar born, and had laughed at the Herald's size before accepting the challenge.

The ‘duel’ was short lived. The Iron Bull distracted the dogs while The Herald and Lugh fought the leader, and the archers and himself aided where they could. When the man fell, Lugh grabbed Raj’s shoulder and sent a flare of healing magic through her arm, which she had bruised in the fight. He frowned. “We will be sparring later so you may learn to fight one larger than you.” 

It was not a terrible idea, not many dalish were afforded larger combatants then themselves and he mental applauded Lugh for thinking of it. The herald needed to learn and survive, if the breach was to be sealed.

The Herald scowled. “I can take you.”

“I am sure you can, but you also need to learn to fight one my size.” He said, still checking over her arm, then blushed and dropped it and stepped back. 

The herald blinked then gaped at him but before she seemed to be able to find her words, Aria’s voice called out. 

“Lugh, look at this!” She was kneeling by the body of the man that had claimed leadership, and huffed as she bodily turned the man over. 

He turned and frowned down at the body thoughtfully. “Is that… Trigstensen’s missing son?”

Aria stood and slapped Lugh’s arm, oddly cheerful at recognizing the corpse. “I told you I didn’t kill him!” 

“What?” Raj looked at them then back down at the body in confusion. 

Aria waved her hand at the corpse in a vague gesture. “Several years back, this one tried to take me from my hold. After his rightful humiliation he disappeared. His father and half the hold thought I was responsible."

“Interesting that your hold so easily believed you willing to murder a suitor.” He commented casually.

Aria gave him a flat smile. "That would be because I have." She shoved Lugh’s arm again. "But not this one, aye?"

“Tis not murder to defend oneself,” Lugh frowned at the body before looking to the Herald. “I would have the bones returned to his father. Tis the right thing to do.”

The proclaimed Herald of Andraste nodded without hesitation. "Of course. He should have his rites." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aria and Lugh's short convo:   
> ‘He’s good, his loyalty to it is fragile.”   
> ‘How do we break it then? It sounds bad.”  
> ‘His chains are his own to break.’


	12. Chapter 12

For the first time in several days, Varric woke up dry, not damp, dry. Of course this fact was likely due to finally putting some distance between themselves and the storm coast. Rebel wanted to swing by Redcliffe to see what the mages wanted before heading back to Haven, so they were headed further and further away from that horrid beach. 

Sky and Tiny had a new habit, getting up early and exchanging favors for that coffee he had brought with him. Most of the favors were pretty tame, a kiss, back scratch, rubbing some kind of balm onto his horns, once he even came out of his tent to find her trimming his beard. The guy seemed to be eating it up.

Sera and the Seek had headed directly back to Haven with the Chargers, but Bear had asked for Tiny to travel with them, saying he still had questions about Qunari healing methods. Varric was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the big guys' slight wince. Bear was ruthless with his questions.

He decided to pass the time with a question of his own. "Hey, Bear. Why don't you grow a beard like most of the Avvar we've seen?"

Bear raised an eyebrow. "Why do you not grow a beard like most of the dwarves I have seen?"

Fair…

Bear then laughed. "I am a healer, have you ever tried to wash blood and sick from a beard? Tis not pleasant nor easy." 

Sky chuckled, “He was so excited to grow a full beard too, first bout of food poisoning, which I warned Geord not to serve that stew, one of the children was sick on him and his beard. He took a blade to it. Has kept barefaced ever since.

“That’s why I keep mine to scruff.” Tiny rumbled and nudged Sky’s arm. “Most like the tickle.”

“Yes, because having your bits scraped raw is soooo much fun.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Ouch, felt that one.” Tiny rubbed his chest as if wounded.

“You shall survive.” Sky chuckled and pulled Charlie back slightly to ride beside Chuckles. “So, was someone sick on your head?” 

Chuckles… well, chuckled, thus the nickname. “Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid.”

There was a beat of expectant silence and then Sky rolled her eyes. “That is all you will say? At least weave a story for the loss.” 

Chuckle’s made an overly thoughtful expression. “Very well… I woke one day and found it cumbersome, decided to use a spell to remove a good length of it but the spell failed after several attempts. In my frustration I poured too much mana into my next attempt. The result is as you see.”

Sky made an amused snicker/snort and grinned. “That… is utterly believable.” 

“Remember when you-” Bear started.

“Shut up.” 

“No, no, I want to hear this.” Varric said, then quailed under Sky’s murder glare. 

“Well, you see when she was younger-”

“Lugh, I will skin you alive.”

“Her hair was more orange than red-”

“I will set rashvine in all of your clothes.”

“And she did not like the teasing.”

“I will!”

“And so she tried to dye it brown.”

“I will haunt your dreams, brother!”

“But she misjudged the potion, and it turned-”

“Lugh, not even the gods will be able to spare you!”

“Pink as a flower.” Lugh grinned. “She had to shear her head and wait for it to regrow.” 

“You are going to die a painful death!”

“Pink is pretty.” Tiny offered with a shrug. 

Gold. Pure gold.

  
  
  
  


He had resisted her dreams as he had received the impression that he had not been wholly welcome the last time he had been pulled into her dream as she had sought out her brother. 

However, tonight the fade in the area they camped was alive with activity, spirits focusing on one point. Aria. Something about her dream was drawing them, like moths to light. He decided that he could perhaps follow one of the spirits into her dream and use it as a shield of sorts if the event bothered her. 

He slipped into her dream behind a spirit of revelry, and immediately flinched as he was assaulted by flashing lights as if a hundred strikes of lightning at once, deep, pounding sounds shaking the air and the sense of smoke and sex heavy in the air. He was in a large room of some sort, filling with the memories of a hundred milling humans dressed… undressed in odd fashions and odd drinks in their hands as they bounced and moved with the overwhelming, pounding sound.

Aria suddenly appeared in front of him, wearing a skin tight wrap of some sort, bobbing as the others. The words to- whatever kind of song and music they played sounded garbled, a few words here and there slipping through but nothing made sense. 

He watched the bizarre dream unfold with a sense of bewildered wonder. She raised her arms and began to spin, a delighted smile on her face that he had never seen before. Then as quickly as it appeared, the smile slipped to a frown as her eyes fell on him and she stopped dancing “You shouldn’t be here.” 

And then she woke and the dream slipped away from him. He tried to grasp it, to bring it back out of the fade, but… there was nothing to find. This was not a memory of the fade, but rather a construct of her imagination... 

He woke with a grunt and rolled away, reaching for his staff blindly at the sensation of being attacked, only to freeze at the sight of Aria standing over him. Her hair was loose and billowing around her head and her eyes were sparking angrily.

“Stay out of my dreams.” She jabbed a finger at him angrily before adding as an afterthought. “Unless explicitly invited!”

Did-? “Did you kick me?”

“Gently.” Her hand fluttered in a dismissive gesture before pointing back at him. “Stay. Out.” With that she turned and stomped out of the tent.

“So… that was interesting.” Varric drawled. Solas glanced over at him in time to see his hand retreat from his crossbow. “What did you do?”

He laid back down and sent a healing spell through his bruised side. “Followed a spirit and ended up drawn into her dream.” 

There was a beat of silence before the dwarf huffed and muttered about ‘stupid mages just following demons around’ before pointedly rolling over and pretending to go to sleep, however the telltale scratches of his pencil on paper betrayed his otherwise still form.

Solas sighed in resignation of being somehow portrayed as some sordid lover’s quarrel or whatever the dwarf was writing, but after reading ‘Swords and Shields’, a fact he sorely regretted, he did not have much hope it would be accurate, let alone… readable.

Once again, he was greeted by the sight of Aria ‘sharing tongues’ with The Iron Bull as soon as he emerged from his tent come morning. He ignored the near common place sight and went to see if there was anything prepared besides the coffee. 

There was not as other than The Iron Bull and Aria, he seemed to be the only other awake. So he set about preparing a simple breakfast of porridge and rabbit that had been caught the day before, and Lugh had cast a frost spell to keep the meat from spoiling. 

The Iron Bull sat down with a groan across the fire and immediately put a pot next to the fire to boil. 

“Do you intend to keep bargaining until your supply runs out?” He wasn’t sure why he asked… The sight did not bother him, though he had his concerns as to the Qunari’s allegiances… perhaps it was just concern for her well being? They were not exactly friends, but there seemed to be a mutual sort of respect… barring this morning's events, of course.

The Iron Bull raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Only if she wants. She could have the coffee anytime without.”

“And miss out on that tongue?” Aria smirked, coming to sit down next to the fire, her hair loose from their customary braids and wet; the scent of soap clung to the air as she ran a hand through the strands, conjuring heat and slowly drying out the hair carefully. The control the spell took was quite impressive, too much heat and the hair would burn.

The Iron Bull stuck his fingers in a ‘v’ over his mouth and stuck his tongue out in a very explicit, crude gesture and Aria laughed and extended her middle finger back at him. 

“Hey, some of us want to eat.” Varric grumbled as he came out of the tent they were sharing and stretched. “Sky, next time when Chuckles interrupts your sleep, mind keeping the sound down to a minimum?”

Solas shot the dwarf an unamused glance as The Iron Bull rumbled a laugh. “Oh, so that’s why you asked.”

The Qunari was smarter than that… meaning he was seeing if he could get a rise out of him, trying to figure out the dynamics of the Herald’s favored group. 

Aria, for her part, simply asked, “How is the bruise?” 

“I healed it.” He was careful to keep his expression bland as he prepared a bowl for himself. 

There was a flash of amusement in her expression as she finished drying her hair then accepted a mug of the coffee from The Iron Bull and settled into a cross legged position as the Qunari fixed them both bowls of porridge. 

Lugh and Raj were the last out of their tents, Raj blinking blearily in the light and groaning. “Why can’t I ever sleep past noon? Just once?”

Aria immediately rose and set her mug down to ladle porridge into a bowl and push it into the Herald’s hands. 

The girl wrinkled her nose. “That’s still way too much.” 

Aria settled back down and smiled. “Your stomach will adjust.”

He still found it interesting that the twins did not seem to accept the common thought that elves were naturally that… skinny. Modern elves seemed chronically underfed and it was accepted as the norm, even by the elves themselves. 

“I’m going to need new armor if you two insist on fattening me up.” She said, though she still shoved a large spoonful of porridge into her mouth.

“It’s Lugh’s plan, and I half think it is a long stalk to get you out of your armor.” 

Lugh choked on his food. 

He did enjoy their sibling teasing, as off color as it tended to be. 

The Herald’s ears were bright red but she put on an imperious expression. “He just has to ask.” 

“I… will keep that in mind.” Lugh said into his bowl. 

Aria grinned mischievously but asked brightly. “Soooo, Redcliffe?”

  
  
  


They would be here soon. They had to be. He could fight a few more demons until they arrived. Easy. No sweat on his neck. Just a few more demons. Just a few… more… The chantry doors burst open and he covered his sigh of relief at the sensation of mages gathering spells with a put on shout of exasperation.

“Took your sweet time getting here.” 

The fight was… shocking short after their arrival, and then the small elven woman ran forward and shoved her hand into the rift and… the veil healed with a shudder of power. 

“Fascinating.” He turned to her, intending to ask how it worked, but found himself staring into a chest. A very broad chest, covered in furs. He looked up to find one of the legendary mountain barbarians staring at him with… admiration? Was that what that was? “Um. Hello.” 

The man’s eyes widened and he stepped back, and the elven woman, the Herald presumably, popped up by his elbow. “Hello. Bit of a sticky spot you were in.” 

“Um, yes.” He took a second to reorient himself. “Pavus is the name, Dorian Pavus, recently of Minrathous.“

“Ugh, Tevinters. Careful, Boss, the pretty ones are always trouble.” There was a qunari there, just as massive as the barbarian, and looking him over with… one eye.

“Are you speaking of me again?” Another barbarian, this one a woman, punched the qunari in the bicep, though she was looking at him curiously as she did so and nodded. “Well met.” 

“Interesting group you have here?” It came out as more of a question than he would have liked. The barbarian man and the qunari were both looking him over in a distinct way that reminded him of the elicit novels shared under the tables in the Circle. Best to steer away from  _ that _ line of thought.

“We manage.” The Herald said cheerfully and glanced around. “We were expecting Felix.” 

“He-”

“Is here.” His friend said, popping in through a side door like a well timed theater entrance. Though he would have done it with a tad more flare. “It took longer than I expected to get away from father.” 

Dorian smiled and charmed his way through the necessary information sharing and posturing, though… there was less of the latter than he had expected. Beyond the qunari’s comment, there was… a surprising lack of suspicion for the Tevinter mage. Though the large barbarian man opened his mouth at one point, then closed it at a sharp elbow from the barbarian woman. “ _ Layter _ .”

Interesting. Married perhaps? Were Avvar women aggressive? He would expect them to be. Avvar tended to be naturally aggressive in their raids on the Tevinter borders, so he heard. 

The formalities finally ended and he tried to make his graceful exit before things took a turn for the awkward. “Well, I will meet you at your little fort then, Haven is it?”

The giant barbarian looked… disappointed. “But…”

The Herald glanced at the man and then shrugged. “You can travel with us if you want, it’s safer on the roads in a group nowadays. As long as you don’t mind Lugh here talking your ear off.” 

Dorian glanced at the giant man who had said exactly one word so far. He hadn’t expected to be allowed to travel with them, what with being the suspicious Tevinter Mage and all, but the roads were terrible and the food worse. “I… believe I will survive his verbosity.” 

The qunari snorted. “That’s what you think.”

The woman laughed then tapped the Herald’s arm. “If we are done here, I would like to return to camp? The air here is getting difficult to breathe.”

“Yes.” The Herald nodded. “Let’s. I had forgotten how bad shemlen towns smell.” 

The giant man made an agreeing sort of grunt.

Interesting… come to think of it they definitely all smelled better than the other southerners he’d interacted with… well, with the perpetual smell of the village it was hard to tell, but at least he did not feel the need to gag if one stood within three feet of him.

They did indeed leave the city as soon as he had gathered his things, in an odd hurried pace until they were well away from the walls and several of them took deep, relieved breaths and slowed to a more reasonable walk. He could feel the barbarian man, Lugh was it?, and the qunari’s gazes on him the entire time. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Imagine his surprise when they reached the camp and there was… a wash basin. In a camp? There was a wash basin in a camp, and each and every one of the Herald’s companions, as well as the woman herself, washed their hands and arms, and in Lugh’s case, his face as well. The man gave him a questioning look and a slight head tilt towards the basin. Apparently he was expected to wash as well. Very well. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so awful after all… 

“You smell better than most Lowlanders.” was the first sentence out of the barbarian’s mouth.

That… wasn’t unsettling at all. Not that he hadn’t been thinking the same of them but… one does not say such things aloud.

“That is creepy, brother.” The woman rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist the logs gathered together instantly catching fire. “And he is a noble of sort, he probably bathes  _ once _ a week.” 

Ah, siblings not married, noted. And once a week?! “Is that your southerner’s standard of cleanliness?” He scoffed as he dumped the used water and cast a small ice spell and melted it for fresh water into the bowl. 

“Lowlanders.” The man shrugged, his eyes darting in seeming delight from the basin to the redhead. “You can smell them ere you see them. We’ve been hard pressed to remedy the fact.” 

“They came into Haven and got it scrubbed from top to bottom.” The Herald said happily. 

The qunari made an impressed sound. “Most humans smell like pork left in the sun.”

“And then shat on.” The barbarian woman laughed as she pulled wrapped meat from a pack, Dorian could see the frost glyphs on the fabric. He was relieved to see practical uses for magic for once, southerners seemed to think the only use was offencive or rarely healing. But this was practical, common sense.

“But not you.” The barbarian man said in a rush, as if trying to reassure him, then frowned. “Was that creepy as well?”

“I should hope not.” He laughed and dried his hands with another small spell, so far they had been quite refreshingly clean but he was not quite ready to trust the small cloth that was provided, “and yes, just a little.”

“Tis a difference of people.” The barbarian woman tossed over her shoulder as she began slicing the meat into strips. “They think of it as a private matter rather than practical.” She then frowned at the pan. “We need more meat and forage for root vegetables, edible berries here are scarce but there might be a few by the lake or a stream.”

“I will see what the gods provide.” The large man said, and turned to leave. 

The Herald jumped to follow him. “I’ll go with you!”

Dorian blinked at the pair, then glanced at the others of the famed ‘Herald of Andraste’s’ group. The dwarf was eagerly scribbling away with a notebook, the qunari was watching him far too obviously, and the elf mage poured a flour of some sort into a bowl, before adding salt and handed it to the woman, who immediately dropped the thin slices of meat into it. Interesting group of people he had fallen in with… and they blessedly seemed to have a grasp of the concept of seasoning. 

  
  
  
  


They had caught a ram fairly easily, and Raj had shown him the signs of edible roots near the stream. Her clan had traveled through this terrain before, and by the time they began to head back, they had enough to feed their group for a day or two. He was carrying the ram while she skipped silently beside him.

After a while, she spoke. “Soooo… you did the same ‘freeze like a startled halla’ with the tevinter that you did with Josephine.” 

He felt himself color in embarrassment.

She elbowed him playfully. “Someone falling in love again?”

He shook his head. “Nay, tis not love. Tis…” He trailed off, uncertain how to explain. She was looking up at him with expectant eyes, so he tried. “It is hard to explain. The world is filled with beautiful people of so many different forms. Sometimes I feel as if the breath has been struck from me with how beautiful a person is. A pattern of freckles haunts my mind, a color of an eye distracts…” Lugh sighed. “But that is… it is just beauty. A thing to admire, perhaps to enjoy, but it is not a person. It is not… love. Love is… love is the smile that is brought to your face when they make a jest. Love is a little stone picked up and carried home because it will bring them joy. Love is… comfort. Love is who you go to when you are hurting.” 

Her ears had turned pink by the end of it and she blinked and swallowed before putting on a smile. “So… Josephine and Dorian?”

“I want to  _ paint _ them.” He said carefully, trying to make sure his words were clear and nothing muddled. “They are striking, like the birds. My mind is caught up with the thought of gold along their brow or blue under their eye. It… distracts.” 

“You don’t want to get up in that?” She was teasing him now.

“If they wished, I might, but I am not their…” He searched for the phrase Aria used. “Type? I enjoy the woods, my cave, my hold. A roll for the fun of it would likely be accepted but the ambassador would not fit in my world, she has her own world that she enjoys and it is vastly different and Dorian is… delicate of heart.”

“What?”

“He wishes to be loved. He practically screams it with every word and gesture. A roll would hurt him, though he would be flippant.” He paused and then considered his words. “I… probably should not have said that.” 

Raj was quiet for several steps before asking. “You got that from only a few words?” Her voice was wondering before she skipped ahead of him and turned and was walking backwards so she could face him. “What do you get from me?”

He looked her over carefully before answering just as carefully. “You are lonely. You wish for people you can trust, that will not put you in a gilt box to be admired.” 

She stopped walking and he was forced to stop as well lest he knock her over. Her eyes suddenly staring at his chest but unseeing. He mentaly kicked himself, these were not things people wished to hear. They did not like being ‘summarized’ as Aria had put it once. She had spent many a year trying to teach him not to blurt out every thought that came to his head.

He tried to bring back a sense of levity. “And also you would remove your armor if I asked.”

She seemed to shake off whatever thoughts his words had caused and grinned up at him. “And would you if I asked?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly then blushed… why did he blush so often with her? 

She hummed and turned to keep walking back to camp. “Am I like one of your colorful bird people?”

“Nay… more as a hunting eagle. Beautiful but fierce. A bird to hunt with for…” He paused, realizing he had been caught up in the metaphor and about to say ‘for life’. “To hunt with or to follow to battle.”

She stopped again and turned to look at him, her expression thoughtful again. “My clan believed me weak, too easily swayed, too prone to avoid conflict. Only keeper Deshauna saw anything in me, that’s why I was at the conclave. She trusted me, though my father wanted her to send someone else.”

"To avoid unnecessary conflict is the path of the wise." He said quietly. "Tis not weak to be willing to listen to reason and adapt." 

She laughed ruefully, “try telling that to our hunters. I was one of the few who agreed with our Keeper.”

"Ah, I will leave that to you. I have enough trouble with my own." He laughed as well. How many young, or not so young, warriors had he had to prevent from starting a war for no good cause?

She smiled at that and looked at him with honest wonder. “What are your people like? Your hold? I feel as if what I've seen with the other warriors doesn’t really compare.”

"Loud and quiet in turn, filled with memories but yet ready to be abandoned if need be." He shrugged. "We live on the edge of winter's bite, and we know our time is short and uncertain. We take what joy we can, and bid it farewell when it must end." He made a face. "We have another hold staying with us under the Oath of hospitality, but they are too eager for blood. It makes the feast days tense." 

“Do holds differ from each other so much?”

He grinned at her, enjoying her honest curiosity. "Do lowlander 'nations'? But yes. Some, many, have changed due to Aria’s influence. Any hold that takes a bride from ours is bound to bend to her ways. The Hakkonites are too dense to do so, and thus have trouble taking wives. A fact that sours their already addled moods."

“You said ' _ takes _ a bride'…” she grew quiet again before asking. “The leader of the blades, Sky said he tried to take her from the hold.”

“Aye,” he sighed, he had a feeling of where this was going. 

Raj’s brow furrowed but there was a concerned edge to her features. “She said… she murdered another one who tried.”

That was not a topic he liked to speak of but he would not have Raj believe his sister a murder. It took far too long to convince Aria herself that it was not murder. “Tis not murder to protect yourself.”

“What happened?” Raj’s voice was wary but concerned and when he did not answer her after a few steps she added. “You don’t have to tell me, you have both proved yourselves my friends twice over.” 

He sighed and nodded, best tell her now so it is done and over with lest she ask Aria and get the wrong story. "It is… ages ago a warrior would simply steal a wife he wanted. Over time, it changed to… a traditional game. You court, you… woo, and then your Thane arranges things with her Thane, and you attempt to sneak into her hold and steal her away without being caught. Tis… a game of skill and stealth. Many a couple is caught for the giggling." 

Raj's mouth fell open. "Oh… that's why…"

He forged on, eager to have the subject done with. "But some holds… some men, do not… they care not for what a woman wants and will try to take a wife by force." 

Raj’s eyes got wide. “He-“

“Aria never wanted a match, so nothing had been arranged.” He forced himself to talk through memories. “he… ambushed her while she was gathering herbs. She defended herself, and could not save him from the wound, though she tried. He was burnt too badly to save." He would not tell her that he had found Aria sobbing over a pile of ash while the forest burned around them, that he had used most of his magic protecting himself from the flames to get to her. “She has never forgiven herself for losing control of her gift.”

Raj looked horrified before making a grim face. "Yeah, that's not murder."

He hummed in agreement. “The hold did not believe it was either, though there were those who did not believe so.”

Raj looked at him again, her eyes saddened and sympathetic. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry that happened.”

"As am I. The more foolish of men still try for her as she is-" He shook his head. Best not to air that about. "She has to be watchful and it causes her pain to be so wary." 

Raj frowned and kicked a pebble with her foot and crossed her arms with a little shiver. “Guess it doesn’t matter where you are from, evil will find you no matter.”

"Tis why we live in groups, so we can protect each other when it does." He gave her a comforting smile. “But enough, let us get this bounty to camp.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Iron Fahk’ehn Bull! Stay out of my cleanser!” Aria’s shout could probably be heard to the Anders and Tiny cringed slightly before putting on the most perfect, slightly baffled, innocently confused expression Varric had ever seen. 

“What are you talking about?” He said in yet again, the most perfectly baffled, innocent tone.

“Oh, do not try that benhissy crap on me, Iron Bull. There is only one person here stupid enough to drink unprepared shine!” She came storming out of her tent and jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “And it is you!” 

“I’m not sure-“

“I can Fahk’ehn smell it on your breath!”

“Dammit!” Tiny winced and then backed up quickly when Sky’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-” 

“Coffee. Now.”

“On it, ma’am.” Tiny ducked his head and hurried to the campfire.

Varric noted the incident down and then raised an eyebrow at Sky, who was glaring after Tiny with her hands on her hips. “You didn’t really smell it did you?” The stuff was toxic, he would have smelled it with how close Tiny was sitting.

Sky’s mouth quirked. “No. Mint and coffee.”

“Ah, you’re a riot, Sky.” he chuckled and wrote that note down for later. 

“If it’s any consolation, you looked hot, all fired up like that.” Tiny muttered from where he was putting on a new brew. Varric had to admit he was getting a taste for the stuff. It might be bitter, but it did wake you up fast.

Aria put her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss, but flame curled out from her mouth with the motion. Tiny froze with a startled, admiring expression, and then cursed and yanked his hand away from the fireplace. 

The tevinter mage blinked from across the fire. “That… is a very- How did you learn to do that? How did you not burn your mouth? Was there a barrier or was it a light trick made to look like fire?” 

“Andraste’s tits, you’re just as bad as Bear.” He huffed and tucked his notepad into his shirt before getting up to wash his hands before they ate breakfast.

Aria laughed and did her favorite trick of winding fire around her fingers. “Tis just fire. I made it, I control it.” She sent it up in a spiral, and then grabbed it from the air so it disappeared between her fingers. “Focus.” 

“Damn…” Tiny breathed. “That’s… hot.” 

“You should see the light paintings that Lugh can create in the air.” Aria shrugged, unconcerned with Tiny’s open admiration. “Or…” She frowned and clapped her hands together and then spread them out suddenly, a spray of lightning flaring between her palms in a hair raising crackle. She began spinning her hands, twirling the lightning in the air and then around herself, like one of the Riviani ribbon dancers he had seen in one of Kirkwalls festivals. It… was pretty damn impressive. She finished by flicking the lightning into the ground at her feet and shrugging. “Magic is part of us and if we are our magic then it cannot hurt. It only takes practice.” 

The tevinter was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. “But… That…” He ran a hand over his face, messing up his mustache. “Vishante Kaffas, that level of precision should have taken years to master! Who was your teacher?” 

“Knowledge.” She shrugged. “And it did take years. Lugh and I spent many a long day playing ‘don’t drop the lightning’ as children.” 

The mage blinked at her for a moment. “Knowledge… as in...?”

Sky smiled and nodded as she sat down next to him. “I was trained by a god of Knowledge.”

“Wait, you mean a spirit taught you all that?” Varric paused with his hands in the wash basin.

“Aye. Though I believe they grew impatient with me as I argued often. They were happy to take their leave when I finished my test.” 

The mage narrowed his eyes. “Take their…  _ leave? _ ” 

Bear appeared and dropped by the fire to feed another log into the pit. “Aye. How do you say it? We agree to share our bones while we learn, and when we are done, they take their leave.”

There was a long silence save for crackling of the fire and Varric found himself staring at Sky and Bear in horror. Memories of Anders flashing through his mind. The ultimately good and caring guy driven mad by a spirit. 

“You… mean you were… possessed?”

Bear looked affronted. “The sharing was well. The gods took not sick and we grew not obsessed. My teacher still oft visits my dreams to see what new thing I have discovered.”

“Emphasis on ‘were’, right?” Tiny’s tone was careful but the guy's shoulder muscles were tensing slightly. 

“They took their leave…” Bear said slowly. “Our bones are our own. We can no longer take a god into us.” 

“What about when you heal? You light up like…” like Blondie did, spirit healer, Justice. Varric hated the feeling of fear in his chest at the thought of losing the twins like they had Blondie. Hawke hadn’t been able to bring himself to end it there, and they still had no idea where he had run to.

“We can allow a god to reach through to us to lend aid, but they cannot stay.” Bear shrugged, completely unconcerned with this horrifying revelation. 

Dorian held up a hand in the universal plea to stop. “Hold on. Let’s see if I have heard everything correctly.” He began ticking off everything on his fingers. “First, you allowed yourselves to be possessed to learn magic. Second, the spirit is no longer there somehow. Third, you can no longer become possessed?”

Sky sat on the ground and watched with a far too amused expression as Bear nodded and said in a slow tone as if he wasn’t sure Dorian was keeping up well. “Aye. Tis the way of our people. How do you learn of your magic?”

“From books! From teachers! People teachers!” Dorian spoke as if they were insane for simply asking. 

Chuckles made a vague humming sound as he washed his hands. “That seems to have put you on equal footing. Yes, I can see that.”

“Oh! Oh! Lugh! Do the lights for him!” Sky straightened and clapped her hands. “He was impressed by the storm game as it were!”

Bear grimaced. “I do not-”

“What lights?” Rebel asked as she came out of her tent, scrubbing at her hair, which was wet. “Can I see?”

Bear hesitated, then sighed and raised his hands and frowned. Little flares of light began appearing and flying up out of his hands, swirling in the air fast enough to make Varric rub his eyes. The little streaks of light took on colors and seemed to swarm around Bear’s hands until a school of rainbow colored fish began darting around his head, seeming to swim in a bright ribbon until he sent them into the earth. 

“That…” Chuckles exhaled in shock. “Is very old magic.” 

Bear shrugged. “My teacher showed it to me as a way to pass the time and strengthen the… agility and control of my magic.”

“It’s beautiful.” Rebel said in an understandably awed tone. 

“Yes…” Dorian blinked and ran a hand over his face again. “Impressive. But… what about demons? Have you no fear of them?” 

“They cannot take our bones, so most do not bother us.” Sky said with a shrug. “And those of the gods we find sickened, we unravel and send back to the Lady to be reborn uncorrupted.” 

Dorian frowned thoughtfully and raised his hand in the same manner Bear had but instead of fish, a little flare of sparkles of light came to life but sputtered out of existence just as quickly as they appeared. 

Bear sat up on his knees in interest. “Tis a good start, but you must not simply throw them in the air to do as they will. They will die without your will to feed them. You must guide them, keep hold of them and direct them to the patterns of your mind.”

Dorian frowned and tried again, and this time the sparkles flashed into his face, making him startle backwards. 

Sky snorted as she poured herself a mug of coffee, Bear’s shoulders began to shake though his face remained impressively passive. “When I said direct them to the patterns in your mind that was not what I meant.” 

The mage made an indignant sound and raised his hand as if to try again but Varric held up his hands. “Hey, Sparkler, why don’t you practice that away from the tents?” Yup, Sparkler was perfect for him.

“Right. Yes.” Sparkler huffed and seemed uncertain what to do with his hands for a moment before resting them casually on his thighs. 

“What sort of teacher did you have, Lugh?” Chuckles asked. He seemed the most… comfortable with recent revelations.

“Curiosity.” 

“Ah. Of course.” He smiled ruefully then looked at Sky. “Knowledge is not usually drawn to the dreamer mind, preferring to watch from the fade and learn.”

“Interesting.” Sky said with a smile.

There was a pause and then Chuckles let out a slightly exasperated breath. “Do you know why you drew a spirit of knowledge?”

Sky shrugged, “Nay, it was just the first that I was willing to allow.”

“You were a very angry child.” Bear said in amusement. 

“And arrogant, and impatient, so on and so on.” She rolled her eyes. “I must have met every god of pride and rage within the Dreaming.” 

Chuckles stilled and frowned at that before he moved to sit next to the fire and began filling and passing out bowls of porridge. Tiny edged subtly away from Sky, who just gave him a wry smile and an understanding sort of shrug. He hoped the pair’s arrangement hadn’t been serious enough for hurt feelings, it didn’t seem like Tiny was at all at ease with the… idea of Sky once being possessed. 

And not possessed anymore… He half hoped Anders managed to find his way to the Avvar to find out however they did that...

Varric couldn’t help but smile as he saw Bear drop a handful of berries into Rebel’s bowl before he passed it to her. Those two were adorable. 

  
  
  
  
  


The scouts had spotted them that morning making their way back. They should arrive soon and Josephine wanted him to greet them at the gates with a few soldiers to make some sort of statement for the nobles in Haven. It was a simple enough thing, so he did not bother with more than a token protest that he had more important things to be doing.

It wasn’t until he found himself scowling in frustration at his mirror as he tried to tame his Maker cursed curls that he… realized what he was doing. Why was he so concerned with his appearance? He grumbled in irritation and grabbed the pomade he had discovered worked… however it had a strong… greasy smell he was not fond of. And with how Aria had… and why was he now suddenly worried about the way he smelled?! Because she had sniffed him? 

Maker’s breath… he wakes up in a woman’s bed one time and he was letting her have her ‘claim’. Pathetic. He was acting like there was some commitment, he had bedded women before. This was no different… other than remembering the event. 

He tossed the pomade aside and purposefully messed his hair. To the void with it. He grabbed his cloak and tied it around his waist as was his habit, and belted his sword. He started for the door of his cabin only to stop with a groan. ‘A statement for the nobles’ the Ambassador had asked him for, he could practically feel her ire at him showing up looking… no to the void with it. He was greeting them; that would be enough. Who cared about his hair?

Apparently: Aria Sky Touched.

He sent a mental apology to Jospehine for completely upending her intent as he had barely stepped forward to greet the Herald as he was supposed to before a barbarian red head came barreling out of the group and grabbed his shoulders in greeting, a blinding grin on her face. 

“Godendwlid! Your hair! I like it!” She reached up and ran a hand through his hair and he felt his face and neck immediately heat.

“Why Curly, you’re curly.” The damnable dwarf laughed and leaned against the horn of his saddle. “Never thought I’d see that again.”

“You should bless us with your natural beauty more often.” Aria Sky Touched smiled sharply at him and her hand was still in his hair and he heard someone choke back a laugh. Maker’s breath… he had known she liked his hair before he had tossed aside the pomade. He had known, and despite the embarrassed flush burning on his neck, he… was pleased she liked it. Pleased that she liked it and he was leaning into her touch.

Maker, he was pathetic. 

He forced his hand to move and capture her wrist and pushed her hand from his head. ”I just came from the waterfall rooms, I will take care of it later. I do not care for it.” 

“Or she could take care of it for you.” Someone that sounded suspiciously like Lugh muttered and it was followed by several wolf calls from the other Avvar gathered by the gates. The Herald slapped his arm, but giggled.

Maker, would he ever stop blushing? 

“What is not to like? Tis pretty.” Aria frowned in seeming earnest perplexion.

Why were they still talking about his hair? “My job is not to…” He felt his face heat further. “To look ‘pretty’.”

Aria’s eyes roamed over him slowly before she smirked. “Pity. You are good at it.” 

Perhaps it was the desire not to be the only one teased. And perhaps it was the desire to get rid of the smirk on her face. He wasn’t sure why but he wanted to see her just as flustered as him. “Well, Dear…”

Her eyes widened and he felt himself smile at the obvious reaction. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth and then she blushed.

“I must return to work. I’m sure we will speak later.” He added one more for good measure. “Darling.” 

Her mouth opened and then closed and he felt his smile widen into a grin, enjoying the little color that tinted her cheeks and spread to her neck. He expected her to run like before or at the very least to shift or stutter out something awkwardly. What he did not expect was for her to grab his mantle and pull him slightly to her and put her lips against his in a quick, dry press of a kiss and then just as suddenly step back, her cheeks flushing even deeper red. He felt  frozen and she wavered before turning on her heel and marching to her ‘horse’ and unlatching her saddle pack, and headed towards her and her brothers cabin without looking back.

That had the exact opposite effect he had been trying for. Hadn’t it? He realized he had his fingers pressed to his lips -where she had kissed him- and yanked his hand away. 

“Huh. When I called her that, she punched me.” One of the avvar, Giljorn, said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. 

“You were lucky she did not stab ye for it.” Another one he had yet to catch the name for said, rubbing his arm with a rueful grimace as he walked by. “But then, you and I were not painted blue for her.” He came to a stop in front of a Tevinter looking man and looked him over with a grin. "Well met! Aren't you a pretty one?"

The man made a small noise then turned to look at Lugh. “You forgot to mention there were more."

Lugh shrugged. "We tend to gather. There be many, but try not to let them paint you blue lest you like them well. You are very pretty and likely to be stolen." 

Painted blu-? Maker’s breath! The paint he had washed off  _ had _ been some kind of  _ claim _ on him and her people knew it. Many had probably witnessed what he could not recall and then his exit from their cabin the next morning. His shirt was still in that Maker forsaken tree.

A Qunari, presumably The Iron Bull who’s Chargers had reported a few days ago, made a grunting sound in his chest. “Isn’t blue paint for weddings or something?” 

“Something.” Lugh huffed, and Cullen could hear Josephine’s airy gasp of ‘Oh!’ As the warrior shouldered his own pack before heading in the direction his sister had disappeared in.

The Herald was looking at him with a wide eyed expression before jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the Avvar camp and began taking small steps backwards like a child running away from a particularly loathsome chore. “I’ll just… see you later? At the briefing? Yes.”

_ Weddings _ ?! 

The Apostate, Solas, dismounted his own horse and offered them all a nod and wordlessly headed for his cabin. The tevinter was staring wide eyed up at both Avvar warriors, who were no doubt propositioning him. 

The Qunari, the Iron Bull nodded his head at him and tilted his horns in the direction the siblings had gone. “Congratulations.” He patted his shoulder as he moved past him toward where the Charger’s had set up their tents.

Maker’s breath… He- she-  _ weddings _ ?!

  
  
  
  


That complicated things. Josephine tapped her pen against her clipboard in thought. She had been certain the ‘claiming’ had been a sort of ritual courtship not a… oh dear. Though it was odd that Aria had gone to her own cabin instead of his… or the other way around. But she didn’t know nearly enough about Avvar customs to make that sort of judgment, now did she? Nobody knew nearly enough about avvar customs! And she wasn’t entirely certain how that was, as they seemed to be everywhere. She was nearly certain the number of avvar outside the walls had doubled somehow when they weren't looking. 

The only things she knew for certain about them was they were tall, forward, excellent fighters, and obsessed with cleanliness. 

And what of Lugh’s… ‘claim’ to the Herald? How in Andraste’s name was she supposed to deal with that? Their commander was one thing but the Herald… oh dear.

And on top of all of that, somehow the avvar had become the more valuable allies than the nobles she was used to dealing with. They provided mages, warriors, supplies, and labor, all because the twins asked them to. There were no deals to negotiate, no favors or strings to pull… groups of Avvar would simply show up and set to work for ‘The Lady of the Sky’. She did not like not knowing how long their support would last… what if it disappeared as quickly as they arrived?

One Avvar man took over the meal tent and their food had never tasted so fresh and flavorful. They weren’t even paying him. She had tried and he had looked so utterly confused at why he would need ‘Lowlander shines when the Lady Bleeds’? 

They had a certain poetic cadence to their speech, and a certain… otherness of appearance that was… Oh! Exotic. They were exotic. And Lugh and Aria were the children of a Thane, a… barbarian prince and princess of sort? She could…

She needed to know if the Avvar had poetry. Songs, something not… crude in nature. Something to highlight their exotic nature that might appeal to the bored nature of nobles… 

Yes, that could work. After all, if Andraste was Alamarri why couldn’t her Herald be married or promised to one? That would also tie the Avvar a little closer to the Inquisition...

She needed to ask Leli to have her people keep an eye out for blue paint on either of them… 

  
  
  


“Lugh…”

“Aye?”

“Summarize? Please?”

“He does not think himself worthy. Wishes to please and be praised, but hates himself for the wish.”

“Oh.”

“He is also confused.” 

“That makes two.” 

Raj had woken up to their conversation earlier than usual, the sun had not yet risen, but the bed was empty. Aria had been strangely quiet since she had kissed the Commander. Odd, as the kisses she had given Bull had been more heated and hadn’t bothered her.

Lugh had been watching her with a patient quietness since. Waiting. 

“And me?”

Raj could hear Lugh’s small hum, “It scares you. Kisses and time spent with Bull to prove you were still free.” There was a pause then, “You want someone to want you for something besides your name and he does not know it.” 

Aria made a slight scoffing noise but it sounded only half hearted. “You make me sound like a really bad  _ chihk flihk _ .” 

“You would know that better than I.” Another pause. “I did not see any rope, sister. There are no knots to wait for.” 

Aria sighed in what sounded like a mixture of relief and frustration. “Does not matter, they do not know our customs.”

Lugh made a humming sound again. “You kissed him.”

“He will forget as the embarrassment fades. We will move on.” There was another long pause. “Do not give me that look. He…” She sighed, exhaling into a groan. “He will not forget.” 

“He will not wish to let you down.” 

There was another long pause and for a moment Raj believed they were done talking but Aira spoke again, her voice quiet and pained. Raj felt a little bad at eavesdropping, but there was no real way to avoid it… 

“I am not good for him. I should have not teased him so.”

“You are not afraid of him.”

“Of course I am not.”

“Which is a thing he does not often find.” 

Another beat of silence before Aria spoke again, her voice taking on a determined tone. “I did not come here to find a partner.” 

Lugh’s voice was so quiet Raj barely caught it. “Neither did I.”

“That is different. She is good for you.” Aria spoke suddenly. “I am too old to be setting a net for the Commander.”

There was a long pause and then Lugh answered thoughtfully. “I believe… after the shock has passed, you will not have to.” 

They lapsed into silence and Raj bit her lip as she played their conversation over in her mind. Aria had kissed Cullen, and now she obviously was insecure about her feelings for the man. Had her interactions with Bull been something to convince herself she did not care? She hadn’t seemed hurt when Bulls attention stopped, though they still shared coffee in the morning, he had been keeping a respectful distance since finding out about the spirit thing. 

“You may join us if you wish.” Aria suddenly said, pulling her from her thoughts. “The resting body has a certain pattern to it’s breaths.”

Oh… she had known she was awake the whole time… Raj felt herself blush and moved to peer over the edge of the loft. Lugh’s face was red and he gave her a sheepish sort of smile. “Tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You make me sound like a really bad Chick Flick.”


	14. Chapter 14

_ “You were a very angry child.”  _

Her brother had said, unknowingly repeating the words from Knowledge that had haunted his thoughts.

A spirit of knowledge trained her and he had been directed to a spirit of knowledge in his search for the supposed ‘reborn Tyrdda’. Was there a connection? Her brother claimed to have met the supposed reborn and she had been quite evasive about the subject.

He decided to search out the spirit once more for answers, though the first time it had not been forthcoming. Perhaps a bargain? He purposefully made the effort to keep his bargains to a minimum lest he unwittingly influence the spirit against its nature. But this spirit desired knowledge, perhaps a memory of something before it was a wisp of a spirit? The temptation just might be enough to coax more information from it. 

His plan however was not to be as the Spirit was not to be found and was somehow veiling itself from him. He awoke frustrated, and the fact that he was allowing himself to become frustrated over something he knew to be impossible worried him. 

He had other things to worry over then some superstition. Let them believe Tyrrda returned, what did he care? It was a fiction and nothing more.

Yet try as he might he could not put the accursed tale and rumor from his mind. So much so he found himself walking towards the Avvar encampment. He paused as he noted more shelters and fires then there had been on his previous visit. More Avvar were joining the fledgling Inquisition then… how strange. He had not seen so many from different holds gathered under one cause since… and there it was again the rumor taking forefront in his mind.

It was foolish. They were here simply because… he faltered in his thoughts. Why were they here? Avvar kept to themselves, it is how they have continued nearly unchanged in their customs as the ages passed. 

He addressed the nearest warrior, a youth still unable to grow a beard. "Why are you here?"

The youth blinked then pointed at the sky. "The Lady bleeds and the Sky Touched has found the Healer." He shrugged. "Mayhap I earn my mark in the aiding, aye?" 

“Perhaps. My thanks.” Solas nodded to the youth and continued. ‘The Sky Touched’. Aria Sky Touched had scolded Torg and made him pay a weregild, but Lugh had convinced the others to follow, so why did they attribute it to her?

He questioned who he could, but all he gathered was they were here on Aria’s behalf, and that, 'the Healer may walk with the Patient, but the Patient is guided by the Sky.’ Whether they meant Aria or the 'Lady' he wasn't able to determine before they left.

By the time he reached Aria and Lugh’s cabin, the pair were already settled by the fire and sharing their morning meal with the Herald, Skywatcher, and Torg.

“Solas, come join our fire and our meal.” Lugh called upon seeing him. Aria looked up from her bowl and her eyes narrowed slightly at his approach.

The Skywatcher greeted him in an amiable tone, then asked. "Did ye find the answer you searched for?"

"No, I do not think I did." Amund Skywatcher was well liked by spirits of Wisdom and Perception; it was not hard to guess as to why. 

The man grunted. "Or you found it but do not wish to keep it." 

"Tis too early for sage wisdom." Torg grumbled. 

“Tis always too early for you, Torg.” Aria muttered lowly and received a glare from the larger Avvar. 

"Aye, I agree with him." The Herald agreed, unconsciously mimicking the Avvar speech patterns. "Be wise after the sun is watching."

Aria’s mouth quirked in amusement and he guessed she had noticed it as well.

"The unwise wrought under the moon's watch is still left for the sun to find." Amund hummed. 

"Yeah, well…" the Herald sighed. "You're right. Carry on." 

Lugh chuckled and took her bowl from her and added to it another helping of what looked like eggs and some kind of root vegetable before handing it back to her. “Eat, it will be over soon.” He took another clean bowl and offered it to Solas. 

“My thanks.” He took the bowl and served himself a small portion, though he was not particularly hungry, he would not squander the opportunity to learn a bit more.

The group seemed content to silence, however, Torg shifted a few times as if he wanted to speak, but a sharp glance from Aria had him sticking his nose back in his food each time. Lugh seemed to grow increasingly amused each time it occurred until he asked in a completely casual tone of voice. “Tis too bad that there is none willing to fetch the ‘coffee’ for you, sister.” 

“I will fetch it.” Torg looked up from his food eagerly.

Aria narrowed her eyes at him, but waved her hand dismissively. “Very well. Off with you with my thanks.” 

The warrior left in a hurry and Solas watched him leave before asking conversationally, “Is he still trying to win your favor?”

“Nay. I think he has eyes for Dorian now and is seeking a reason to find him.” Aria huffed. “I warned him the mage can set him afire, but it did not deter him much.”

“He saw you sent many a beard aflame and it did not deter him.” Skywatcher laughed and pulled a pipe out of his shirt.

”Tis true. Perhaps his persistence will find him favor.” Lugh smiled and sat back.

“That will destroy your lungs.” Aria sighed as Skywatcher began filling the pipe, her tone suggested she had said it many times before with no success.

“And you will heal them, as you do each time we meet.” The man smiled at her fondly but lit the pipe anyway.

“I do not even know if I am reversing the effects. Tis not like I have been able to research magic and  _ kehnser _ .” She sighed, but it was half hearted.

It was the first time he had seen her not argue aggressively over something she believed was right. Amund began taking a few puffs of the pipe Solas saw Aria close her eyes and… a wistful yet pained expression passed over her face.

There was something about pipes and tobacco that caused a bittersweet reaction from her… not that it mattered. It was simply an observation.

“Sky!” Solas turned to see The Iron Bull’s Captain, Krem, approaching with a brewing pot in one hand. “I brought coffee. Your man said you were wanting some?” 

Aria smiled and stood and accepted the pot and waved Krem to sit at the fire. “Thank you. What happened to the oaf? Get distracted by a pretty face?” 

Krem laughed and sat down, extending his hands to the fire. “It seems to happen a lot with your people. Can’t remember when I had so many interested parties at once… not that I’m interested but it’s still good to know there’s options.”

“The gods did not give us beautiful people to simply ignore them.” Lugh shrugged with a grin. 

Aria retrieved two cups and poured the man a cup of the vile concoction as well as herself and struck up a conversation with the man about some of the jobs the Chargers had done over the years. A subject, that while interesting, was not what he was curious about. 

A runner approached and gave a half hearted salute. “Ser Solas, the Ambassador wants to speak with you as soon as you can.” 

He felt himself frown at that. The ambassador had not asked to see him beyond his initial introduction and information about the anchor. Though he did not feel up to speaking with the woman he could not very well tell her no, his position here relied solely on his usefulness to the Inquisition. “I shall be there directly.”

The runner turned and left without acknowledgement of his words and he sighed and stood. “Excuse me, I thank you for the meal but I must take my leave.”

Lugh frowned after the runner. “They were very rude to you.” 

“Hazards of being an elf.” Solas smiled and tipped his head to Amund who returned the gesture. 

“Lot of humans see the ears and the manners disappear.” The herald shrugged. “Knife ears aren’t worth it to them.”

“Tis not right…” Lugh grunted and then stood. “ _ Eye wihl sprehd werd nawt to deelwith thoze sortz _ .”

Aria smiled and raised her fist in an odd gesture. “ _ Thahtz Meye boi _ .”

“I’ll walk with you to the chantry.” The herald offered jumping up from her seat as well and walking around the fire. 

“Very well.” Solas took a step back and gestured for her to lead the way. 

The Herald rolled her eyes in a very distinct Aria sort of way and started walking down the path, he started following her after sending a nod in Amund and Aria’s direction. 

They weren’t too far away when he heard Amund’s voice speak lowly. “Careful with that one, lass, his mask fits ill and he walks as one returned.”

Aria’s only response was a snort. 

Solas only half listened to the Herald’s chatter as they walked, but enough to know that she was looking forward to another Avvar celebration, and he promised he would try to attend next time when she asked. They parted ways near the Chantry. 

The ambassador was waiting for him when he knocked on her door. “Ah, Ser Solas, thank you for coming so quickly.” The Antivan said with a smile as she stood from her desk. “Tea?” She gestured to a small table where a tray and chairs had been set up. Interesting.

“Thank you, but no,” he gave her an apologetic smile. “Tea does not agree with me I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” the ambassador frowned, slightly off put by his refusal, something she had not accounted for perhaps. “Well then, I will make note of that for next time.” She gave him a smile and motioned to the chairs. “Would you still sit with me? I have some questions to ask you if you would not mind?”

Ah, more questions about his origins probably, he had been careful to give vague answers and that would likely be still driving the spymaster and ambassador mad with unanswered questions. An itch they could not scratch. Much like his own irritation with Aria’s refusal to respond to anything not clearly a question. 

“Your messenger said you needed to speak to me?” He made sure to put a questioning tone on the end of the sentence. 

  
  
  
  


Rylen wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but the firebrand Avvar lass that the Herald had begun taking up company with was gettin’ under Commander Cullen’s skin. 

Twice now the man has lost his train of thought at hearing the lass’ laughter. Warden Blackwall was helping to train the recruits and the avvar were making quite the ruckus, calling out teasing insults and playful jeers at them among advice and often stepping in to illustrate or correct. Every now and then they would burst into laughter and when the redhead’s voice was heard, the Commander trailed off mid sentence. 

Rylen had been glad to see the Commander let loose a little at the feast, and had been drunk enough to find it hilarious when the man had been painted up and later carried to the twins’ cabin by the redhead herself. Now… it was not so funny. 

Cullen shook his head in frustration and glared at the paper in an attempt to concentrate. At this rate the paperwork would never be finished.

“Commander Cullen.”

“What!?” The Commander snapped, then ran a hand over his face when the Ambassador blinked at him in shock. “Forgive me. Was there something you wished to speak about?” 

“I… how are the recruits faring?” 

Rylen didn’t know the woman well, but she did not strike him as the type to care about recruit training and troops. 

“Well enough. The Avvar have been Maker sent in training them quickly, even if their methods are unconventional.”

There was a roar of laughter from the Avvar and Rylen glanced over in time to see one of the massive warriors bodily pick up a recruit by the back of his armor and set him on his feet. ‘Unconventional’ was one word for it… if Templar training had been like that Rylen doubted half the recruits would have made it to their first dose. 

“Leliana has said much of the same for the scouts. The Avvar truly have been a boon to the Inquisition. It is good we have their support, yes?” The Ambassador gave the Commander a painted perfect smile.

The Commander gave her a wary look in return. “Yes, they have.” He said slowly.

“I was speaking with Solas as he spends time among the avvar and he told me that they are here on Aria Sky-Touched’s request. She apparently holds quite a bit of renown among them. It is a good thing she had decided to lend her support to the Inquisition, is it not?”

The Commander stilled. Rylen wasn’t sure he was breathing. But there was the Lass’ name again. 

The Ambassador tapped her clipboard, still with that brilliant smile. “Yes. It is a very good thing she had thrown her lot in with the Inquisition. Well, I will speak to you later. Congratulations on such a…” She paused delicately. “Beneficial match.” 

The Ambassador walked away and The Commander stared after her, his hands tight on the paper in his hands. After a moment he let out a loud curse.

“Commander?” 

“Just…” The Commander ran a hand over his face and then shoved the papers into his hands. “Just put it in my cabin. I’ll… deal with them tonight.” He turned as if to leave, and then turned back. “Maker’s breath, what do you even give a woman like that?”

Rylen blinked at him in shock. “Uh… Flowers?” 

The Commander stared at him. “Right. Flowers.” He turned and walked away as if dazed. 

Rylen blew out a long breath. He probably needed to warn the men not to let any of the Avvar take their shirts or paint them blue…

  
  
  
  


‘Beneficial match’.

Cullen had half expected he would be married off to some stuffed up noble the moment it was a well eno ugh match for the Inquisition. He had half resigned himself to the fate, willing to do his duty for the Inquisition’s purpose if it was unavoidable. 

‘Beneficial match’.

Aria Sky Touched. 

The Avvar were here because of her. The warriors, the mages, the scouts, and hunters, and… they were all here because of her. Who he had apparently married. Him. Married. In the Avvar way, by accident, but still…

Maker… married?

Perhaps it would not… be too bad. He had enjoyed the parts of the Avvar celebration that he remembered. Aria herself was… intelligent in her odd, blunt way. Aggressive in her care. Honest. 

Married?

He could- He  _ would _ approach this as he had every other duty: with all of his effort and ability. He would do his best to make this work. At least… there were no masks or formal dinners.

Married?

Which was why he was standing outside the door of her cabin with a bunch of flowers clutched in his hands, mentally chastising himself for his foolishness. What was he doing? He had almost lost his nerve, had just about turned on his heel to leave, when the door swung open to reveal Aria herself. Her face lit up in delight at the sight of him, then her eyes dropped to the flowers in his hands and her eyes widened and darted back up to his face in shock. 

Then…

She slammed the door in his face. He heard a quiet, muffled whimper, and then the door opened again and she faced him, looking shaken.

“What are you doing?” 

“I… flowers? I brought flowers but I wasn’t sure if you… liked flowers. So I brought… useful ones. Embrium, they…” He felt himself begin to flush further with every word.

She slammed the door again and he heard the whimper again, and then a loud whine before the door opened again and she reappeared, looking pale but perfectly composed. He didn’t know what else to do but to offer her the bunch of embrium. She took them and then shut the door again. He heard her begin screeching again, shouting in her odd language, and a few thumps, as if she was kicking something, and then the door opened again and she smiled politely at him.

“Was there anything else?”

“Um. No, just… that.” He said lamely. Maker, why had he thought this was a good idea? Rylen… why had he listened?

“Thank you.” She said evenly, then ducked back into the cabin and shut the door. He heard something thump against it and a scraping sound before a whimper, as if she had slid down to the ground against the door.  _ “Stoopihd prihteeboy gihveeng mee flow’erz. Wuht duhz iht meen?” _

Maker… did she even want this? Was this a drunken accident on her half as well? Her kiss at the gate had been so hesitant… could it even be considered a kiss? He had silenced her in the War Room… Was she afraid of him? Was she-? Had the kiss been a perceived duty? She seemed so confident before, but when he had called her ‘dear’ as- as a husband might, she had fled. Had she hoped he had forgotten?

He should not be here outside her door. He turned to leave, only to find himself faced with Lugh, who was watching him with raised eyebrows. He opened his mouth to… to explain? He didn’t know how to explain himself.

Lugh huffed in an amused manner. “She enjoys coffee, soaps, and knives.” 

The man clapped him on the shoulder and moved past him to duck into the cabin. Cullen could hear him speaking in that odd language in a low tone through the door. ‘Coffee, soaps, and knives’. Was that… approval? Advice? And coffee? What was coffee?

Maker’s breath. He rubbed the back of his neck in an useless gesture to ease the tension and looked up at the sky helplessly. A flutter of movement caught his eyes. His shirt, still dangling from the top branches of the tree. As if mocking his bumbling attempt. It seemed to be the only shirt left, the others must have been retrieved. Would… they leave his there? It had been some time since. He stared at it and then gritted his teeth and shed his cloak, hanging it carefully, hoping by some mercy it was there when he returned, and jumped to grasp the lower branches of the tree.

It had been a long time since he had climbed a tree, not since he had been a child, but despite the weight of his armor it was easier than climbing the cliff with the ice axes had been. It took some careful consideration on the thinner branches, but he reached his shirt and pulled it from where it hung. No sooner did he have it in his hand then he was greeted by the unfortunately familiar chorus of wolf howls from the Avvar below. 

At this point, he was resigned to the fact that he had probably just completed some sort of ritual. 

Maker’s breath… he was in so far over his head…

He needed advice…

From a woman this time, perhaps.

  
  
  


Raj was feeling suspicious, and she wasn’t sure why. Josephine had a certain satisfied air to her that seemed… odd, and Cullen looked like someone had hit him over the head with a branch. She had overheard him stammering out a request for advice on daggers of all things to Leliana as she had left the War Room.

The war room meeting had gone… well, it had gone. They would be heading back to Redcliffe soon. Cullen and Cassandra had tried to convince her to go to the Templars (she still wasn’t sure why they acted like she was in charge and wasn’t sort of maybe their prisoner still), but Raj had seen magic up close and personal. She had seen the twins fight with it, had seen all the different uses for magic. It… was useful, and powerful, and she trusted magic to fix the sky more than people who could suppress magic. She had tried to explain it, and Leliana and Josephine looked convinced, but Cullen looked uncomfortable and Cassandra looked, well… mulish. 

But they would leave for Redcliffe tomorrow. 

She headed for the cabin and burst in without knocking, confident of her welcome. “Cullen is acting all weird.” She paused at the sight of Aria sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at a bunch of embrium like it was about to bite her. “Is she alright?”

“Godendwlid gave her flowers.” Lugh said, giving her an amused look over his journal. 

“Huh.” That was… sweet?

“It is embrium. What does it mean? What does embrium mean?” Aria whispered, still staring at the flowers.

“I think they are used for potions?” Raj suggested.

“I know that!” Aria clutched her temples. “But he gave them to me. Why would he give them to me? The man is terrified of me.” She sighed and stared at the bundle of flowers. “ _ Wuht ahr yoo? _ ”

“They’re… pretty and smell nice?” Kind of spicy, like the outdoors. Raj used to crush the petals on her clothes to mask her scent on the hunt.

Aria’s mouth fell open. “Oh.” 

“They’re also almost the color of your hair?” Raj wasn't sure if she was helping or not, but that’s what she would have thought about if she was giving flowers to someone. 

“Right…” Aria hesitantly reached out and picked up the bunch of flowers. “I can…” She stood up and shoved the flowers in Lugh’s face. “Do these smell, I do not know… manly?”

“Because I of course know of such things.” Lugh sighed, but sniffed obligingly. “It would not… smell like the stuff that Vivienne covers herself with?”

Aria hesitated, then shrugged. “Good enough for me. Where be that lye?” 

Raj glanced at Lugh in bewilderment as Aria began banging through the shelves and cupboards of the cabin. Lugh just gave her an amused shrug.

“Raj! Come learn to make soap.” Aria demanded.

That sounded like fun at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twin speak translations: “...Magic and cancer.”  
> “I will spread word not to deal with those sorts.”  
> “That’s my boy.”  
> “Stupid pretty boy giving me flowers. What does it mean?”  
> “What are you?”


	15. Chapter 15

Aria had made a batch of embrium scented soap with Raj’s help and an air of desperate frustration. Lugh had watched with a slight feeling of… well, confusion. She seemed truly shaken by Godendwlid’s attention. It was an odd thing, she had cared naught for many other fumbling or elegant attempts for her favor, but a few names and a bunch of herbs and she was blushing and flustered. She carefully wrapped it up and set in the loft to cure and then they prepared to go to Redcliffe again. 

Only for…

“You are not taking us with you?” Aria blinked at Raj in shock.

“It…” Raj looked about as disappointed as Lugh felt. “It’s a quick sneak in sort of thing, and we need a small party. Literally small. The tunnel is supposed to be tight…” 

Lugh felt at a loss. “I can help still.”

But yet, he had things he could do to help here at Haven. He could tend her hold while she was out, he had the skill for it. He simply… did not want to be left behind. It was a youthful sort of foolishness. They were all here to heal the Lady’s wounds. They had to put aside their own wishes for a little bit.

“I don’t like this either, but it makes sense strategy wise.” Raj kicked at the ground. “You… I’ll come back. You can bully the shems into being better while I’m gone.” 

Aria seemed to recover from the disappointment faster than him. “Aye. And you keep a hold on Dorian while you are in that lowlander hold. He will aid you.”

Raj tilted her head curiously. “You sound like my Keeper when you say things like that.” 

“I am no keeper.” Aria said distractedly, then turned as if to leave before whirling back and hugging Raj. “You stay safe, drinks and games when you are back.” 

Raj blinked after her and Lugh shrugged when she looked at him in question. “She often grows distracted when the Sky touches her mind.” He hesitated before asking, “Who are you taking with you? I would see them fitted well.” 

“Dorian, Cassandra, and Sera. I wanted to take another mage, but they said I could only take three to keep the group small.”

“Dorian is not a healer.” Lugh couldn’t help but fret. The Lowlander mages were… shockingly ill taught. It should not be as surprising as it was as they apparently learned from written words rather than the gods, but…

“Yeah. I’ve been watching what you and Aria do though and I was hoping I could take some of the Shine of the Moon and some of your healing potions with us?” Raj smiled up at him hopefully.

“Of course. When you return I will see if he be willing to learn some healing spells to prevent this again.”

Raj suddenly teared up and grabbed his waist in a hug. “What would I do without you?” 

“You would do just as well, but with more effort.” He reassured her, carefully hugging her back. By the gods she felt so small and breakable when she hugged him like this. He needed to make sure the lowlander mage could at least cast a decent barrier spell on her. And that Cassandra the Seeker ensured that she ate properly. Perhaps Sera would share a tent with her so she did not take cold.

  
  
  
  


The Iron Bull had been left behind. Too large, too noticeable. That was fair. The Avvar twins had been left behind for the same reason, and neither of them were handling it as well. Lugh looked as if he had dropped his food on the ground, an expression of resignation and disappointment hanging on him even as he tried to put on a good attitude. Kid was… earnest. Missed the Herald. 

Aria… She was angry. Something was eating at her, and it wasn’t just the confusion about the Commander. She was nervous, jittery, kept staring at the sky with a calculating look, then storming off with shouted orders.

The Iron Bull somehow found himself swinging an ax at a copse of trees growing too close to the walls. It was a good task, but… Sky was a force of nature. She had used a combination of intimidation, reason, and downright threats to have the recruits and soldiers of the Inquisition out cutting down trees, working on the trebuchets, and some of the scouts had disappeared down an abandoned mineshaft with supplies and orders to mark the exit on the other end. 

Lugh was training the mages in Haven in healing spells and stuff like that and it made The Iron Bull’s skin crawl to be too close to him with how much… energy the kid gave off. A demon had been up inside him and it was hard to forget when his eyes lit up as he healed a broken rib and then sent the soldier back to work with an order to take it easy for a few days. 

Both of them had a demon in them at one point. They said they weren’t possessed anymore but. It was creepy. Part of him felt guilty for putting on the brakes with Aria but… yeah, he couldn’t unhear that. She didn’t seem to be upset about it though, which meant she wasn’t looking for anything serious, which was good. Or she had expected it. She hadn’t seemed too surprised.

So he was out here swinging an ax at a tree and trying to get a better grasp on what was going on. One of the soldiers with him suddenly stopped swinging and stood up with a confused expression. “Is that…?”

The Iron Bull turned to see what was confusing him and reflexively hid his expression of surprise. Aria Sky Touched was walking and talking with that Chancellor Roderick guy. Her hands were folded behind her back and her shoulders slightly curved as she listened to the man speak with a solemn expression. It was picture perfect humility and interest. 

“Doesn’t she hate him?”

“She calls him The Goat, don’t know if that means she hates him though.” 

The Iron Bull watched as Roderick spoke and placed a hand on her shoulder as if offering comfort and Aria nodded, her eyes downcast and thoughtful. At least until Roderick said something in a low tone and then walked away. Then Aria grimaced and did a little shudder.

“Huh. She’s good.” And after something. What did she want from the Chancellor?

  
  
  


There was a knock at the cabin door, though he had left it partially open in order to signal he was accepting messengers. Things had been… hectic since the Herald had left for Redcliffe a week and a half ago. Aria kept stealing his men for tasks about Haven and Lugh and the Avvar seemed to be void bent on both training every mage in proximity and scrubbing the town down with soap. 

“Enter.” He called absently, though he was more focused on the report on his desk. The messenger didn’t speak or lay down a paper, instead shifting from foot to foot, and Cullen glanced up in exasperation. “What-”

Oh. It was Aria. Aria Sky Touched, shifting nervously and clutching something to her chest, her lower lip caught between her teeth anxiously. He stood, the polite habit drilled into him by his mother as a boy and never forgotten. 

“Oh. Hello.” 

She opened her mouth and then made a… frightened expression before she cleared her throat and scowled. “For you.” She shoved the object she had been clutching to her chest at him, and he took it before she dropped it. 

“I… thank you.” He glanced down to see what it was. A book? He looked back up in time to see her take a nervous step back. Maker, she  _ was _ frightened of him. 

“It is a drama of history, I was told.” She took another half step back. “I was unsure of what you prefer to read.” 

He looked down at the title and immediately recognized it… but he was not going to tell her he had already read this particular volume twice over… or that he already had a copy in his trunk when she had gone out of her way to give it to him. “Thank you… I do like to read. How- how are you?” it sounded pathetic to his own ears.

"Oh. Good. Well." She took another half step back. "I… I made use of the embrium. Thank you." 

He found himself smiling at that. She had used the flowers. He had been right to try for something pretty but still practical. Her expression lit up at the smile, and then she flushed red and turned on her heel and fled the cabin. She liked the embrium. And she had… given him a book. 

How did she know he enjoyed reading? However she had found out, he was glad. She was trying to get to know him, maybe that meant that they had a chance. Maybe. He sat back down in his chair and ran his thumb over the spine of the book. It was in better condition than his copy, and seemed to be a first edition. 

He flipped it open to the title page and found that she had written in it. ‘To Godendwlid’

He smiled and set it down carefully on his desk and pulled out a draw with some paper he had been working on. Leliana had suggested knives, of course she did, easily concealed but beautiful. He had asked Harrit for something but the man gave him a strange look and asked if he had a drawing that they could go off of. So he was trying to make a simple sketch and put enough details for the blacksmith to get it but… he was not an artist. Twenty early drawings had already been used as starters to feed a fire. But he was determined and if it turned out that she didn’t like it well… he could always sell them or give them to Leliana.

The door swung back open and he looked up to see Aria shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. She scowled. “We… my people, we are having a celebration when the Herald returns. You… should come.” She hesitated and then added brusquely. “I would like you to come.” 

An automatic refusal sprang to mind, but… She had invited him. She wished for him to be there and… it might be bad for her if her- if  _ he _ wasn’t there with her. “Of course.” 

She blinked as if startled, then smiled tentatively. “Good. That is… good.” She turned as if to leave, then turned back with a concerned frown. “Has the oil helped?”

He didn’t have to think too long as to what she was referring to. The mint oil she had left (with exacting, careful instructions) had actually been very helpful in taming his headaches. “It has. Thank you.” 

“I am glad.” She gave him a small smile and then fled. 

The incident was as confusing as ever it was with her, but Cullen found himself feeling better about the situation after. She was odd, somewhat terrifying, but… sweet. Sweet and obviously trying to extend the same effort he was. It… could work.

  
  
  
  


Leliana wasn’t sure what to expect when Aria asked her to meet with her in the prison underneath the chantry. She hadn’t expected to see Aria waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a torch in hand, nor the group of Avvar behind her. In the closed confines of the dungeon area they looked… much larger than they usually did in the open air. They were armed, and her mind flicked through the ways she might have to take them down even as she smiled at Aria Sky Touched. 

“What is this?”

“The Summer pilgrimage path. The Goat told me of it’s entrance.” Aria’s voice halted over the word ‘pilgrimage’ as if she was unfamiliar with the sound of it. “We wish to explore it, lay store of supplies.”

“Why?”

Aria rolled her eyes and huffed a slight, amused exhale. An act that normally accompanied a scoffing, disbelieving: ‘lowlanders’ among the Avvar. It was reserved for the moments when a ‘lowlander’ said or did something considered foolish or thoughtless.

“When the forest burns from the enemy before you, tis best to slip away through the caves behind you, yes?” 

One of the other Avvar made a grunting sound. “Live to fight again. We had to leave our hold in such a manner when I was young.”

“Aye. The Skywatcher says the birds are unsettled. I will sleep easier knowing the secret paths are known.” 

Leliana thought of the scouts she had pulled back. “Yes, this is a good idea. Would you mind taking a few of my scouts with you to explore the paths?”

Aria grinned brightly. “Aye! Tis a most excellent idea.”

Leliana was a bit put off by the enthusiastic agreement, only for Lugh to arrive from behind with a pair of her scouts being guided in by his hands on their shoulders. Ah. She had been planning on doing just that with permission or not. 

“Be sure to report back to me when you are through.” She said to her scouts, then inclined her head politely to Lugh and slipped away. 

The pair were forces of natures. Even the Herald seemed to be swayed by them, though she was simply growing more confident, more apt to lead and make her will known. Leliana knew it was due to the pair’s influence. To have such a pair follow you… it would instill an air of confidence in anyone. Leliana sincerely hoped that Josi had been right in her guess that the Commander’s affair with the Avvar woman was enough to bind them to their cause. 

It caused a few diplomatic difficulties, but nothing they could not handle. Soothing a few delicate egos was worth the trade off for such… impressive allies.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Amund never considered himself to have the greatest of minds. He learned from the gods and he listened to what they had to tell. He was an observer, a watcher. Aria Sky Touched had been a strange child in that she had never truly been a child. He had met her when she was small at a meeting of their holds. She had been red faced and yelling at one of the warriors of his clan about cleansing his hands before he touched the food. 

“You are but a child.” The warrior had scoffed, and Aria’s eyes had flashed in rage and flames had begun curling from her fingertips.

“And yet she speaks sense.” Amund had stepped in before a fire could be set in truth. “Wash the trace of the hunt from yourself ere you carry it to the meal.”

The warrior had grumbled and stomped off, but the child who was not a child was looking up at him with narrow Lady green eyes. “I’m Aria Sky Touched.”

Ah, the reborn. “And I am Amund Skywatcher. Well met.” He extended his arm and she clasped his wrist in greeting as the warriors did, firm and confident. “Tis said you have discovered a way to slow the spread of plague. I would learn it from you, if you are willing.”

Her eyes lit up in delight and she grinned. “Aye! Tis simple enough. Lugh! Bring the notes!” She turned her head and shouted, and her brother had scrambled off with childish eagerness.

That had been the beginning of a friendship of mutual respect. He treated her for her years rather than her form, and she was impressed by his willingness to listen. She was brilliant, facts and ‘sciences’ and knowledge whirling about her mind, falling from a quick, sharp tongue and illustrated with wide, imperious movements. It was easy to see she carried an old soul. The hold beasts were fond of her and her twin. She was accustomed to command, orders and demands falling from her lips with force even as she threw her small frame into the labor alongside those she tried to lead and teach.

Lugh was a child in truth, a new soul who nonetheless was impressive in his steady way. He was the mountain to Aria’s sky, grounded, patient, quiet, and yet… just as brilliant. The boy lapped up his sister’s knowledge and even sought out more, speaking to gods and performing ‘experiments’ and always watching with large, solemn honey eyes. He was younger than his Sky Touched twin, yet just as brilliant in his way.

Amund was fond of them both. Respected them. When they had invited him to help the Lady’s healer, he had not had to give it over much thought. He joined, and then watched, as was his way. Lugh brought the scattered Avvar warriors in, and Aria led them by her nature. The hold was transformed under her hand. No longer did it reek with the lowlander smell, instead smelling of soap and smoke, as it should. The lowlander warriors began to learn in the avvar manner, and the mages were taught by Lugh.

The pair had thrown themselves wholly into this cause, and their sense of purpose affected those around them. Amund could not help but wonder if this was the great task Aria had said awaited her when he had asked her to train as the Lady’s Shaman. He had never seen the twins so focused on a thing outside of their books of knowledge.

She had even painted the Commander, though Amund felt it had been half in drunken jest, it was a thing that she had never been willing to even joke of. But she had painted him, and carried him to her cabin, and now the pair were circling each other with all the wariness of a pair of mountain cats. Both believed themselves more tangled than they were, but too proud to ask. 

A common thing with lowlanders. They never simply… asked. They assumed, they prodded, they pried, but they never simply asked what they wished to know. Amund was sure it was half the common Lowlander foolishness coupled with the fact that the Lowlanders thought the Avvar to be dumb savage brutes. An odd belief, but… Lowlanders were odd. So the Commander did not ask, the gilt lady did not ask, even the curious red headed lady did not ask. They did not ask, and so the Avvar did not answer. It was a waste of breath to answer a question not aired.

Amund might have spoken if he had thought the Commander would bring harm to Aria, she was… delicate of heart, though she liked to believe otherwise. But the man was earnest if fumbling, and seemed to wish to make her happy. And she had not set him afire, which was a good indication that she was not wholly opposed to his attentions.

He would watch.

It was… amusing. He had never seen Aria Sky Touched so… ruffled.

But now Aria was preparing for a battle she thought would not be won. Securing secret passages, laying aside stores for a journey, increasing the hold’s defenses. She was preparing, and the birds flew in unease. 

Something was coming.


	16. Chapter 16

Solas was feeling uncertain and on edge, and he did not like it. There was an air of expectation among the Avvar and he could often find groups of them with their head craned back towards the Breach. The Herald had returned with the mages at her heels, weary and hopeful. Allies. She had marched through Haven with her shoulders squared and her chin up and the crowd had parted before her as she went directly to the War Room in the Chantry.

Solas had busied himself with helping the mages settle in, subtly trying to gather information as they waited for the Council to reemerge. The mages themselves were nervous and confused, especially as the Avvar had practically swarmed them with greetings. Solas did not think it was on accident that the few templars in Haven had been essentially barricaded from the mages by a wall of Avvar warriors. The Avvar were… he wouldn’t say ‘hostile’ towards the templars, but they definitely did not like them. The thought of imprisoning and suppressing magic was horrifying to them.

He wound his way through the crowd to find an elf mage facing up with Amund Skywatcher. She looked to be the leader of sorts by the way the other mages flanked her. The Skywatcher was speaking slowly, in the manner of Avvar trying to be polite and understood. “We have much space for more of those blessed among our tents. The ones with the mountain’s blood in them will not trouble you and yours among us, Fiona the Grand Enchantress.”

The elf, apparently the Grand Enchantress, blinked in subtle confusion, and Solas stepped forward to translate. “He is offering to house the mages among the Avvar people, away from the templars inside Haven.” 

“Oh.” She turned and looked him over, her eyes lingering on his ears and his staff, before she turned back to look up at Amund. “What would be expected for such hospitality?”

Amund looked at him, so he, again, translated. Though they were speaking the same language, they were yet speaking across a divide of words. “She wishes to know the cost to be allowed among your people.”

Amund frowned and looked back at the Grand Enchantress. “You are here to help the one who can heal the Lady, aye?”

“He is asking if you are here to help the Herald seal the Breach.”

“Oh, yes, we are.”

“As are we.” Amund extended his hand. “So we are both here to aid.”

The Grand Enchantress accepted his hand with a weary smile. “That we are.”

Solas stayed to help smooth over the twists of speech, and it wasn’t until he saw Lugh watching him with his head tilted that he realized that he was showing an unusual understanding of Avvar speech for a Lowlander. It was too late to feign ignorance now. So he helped and waited for the Herald to return to the Avvar camp. He was sure she would by now.

It was late afternoon when the Herald did return, marching back with the same square shoulders and set jaw. Aria left off her commanding to fall in step behind her, and Lugh separated himself from the mages clustered around him to do the same. Solas gave a questioning glance to her, and the girl nodded once, so he did the same. By the time they reached the twins’ cabin, she had collected most of her chosen companions. The Red Jenny, The Iron Bull, Varric, Dorian, and himself. 

They settled on the floor of the cabin and Lugh began making a tea from some herbs in a bag as The Herald fidgeted with her fingers, the stoic, commanding air she had presented outside gone the moment the door closed. She didn’t speak until Lugh pressed a cup of hot tea into her hands and sat beside her. She scooted so her arm was pressed against him, inhaled, and then spoke in a flat, rehearsed monotone. 

“There was time magic. Alexius sent myself and Dorian into the future by accident.” 

Aria made a soft noise in her throat and moved to press her arm to the Herald’s other side in comfort.

“It was rather terrible.” Dorian spoke up. “Red lyrium being grown from bodies, in the walls, the breach had swallowed the sky. Orlais and Fereldon both had fallen, there was a demon army.” 

“The Avvar had banded together under the banner of Tyrdda Bright Axe and were fighting a losing war against Corypheous.” The Herald said.

Solas startled and noted that Lugh immediately looked at Aria, who was staring at the fire intently but did not look at all surprised by that… impossible statement. “What?”

The Herald gave him a weary look. “The Reborn Tyrdda Bright Axe gathered every Alammari tribe from the Korcari Wilds to the roving tribes near Tevinter and led them against Corypheus, the being who caused the breach. They had forced The Elder One into hiding, but were being systematically cut down by the demon army.”

Tyrdda? Solas wasn’t if the ache in his chest was for grief and anger that someone would have to take up Tyrdda’s name… or hope? He shook mentally shook himself. No. Hope was foolish. 

Questions flew between the others but Aria and Lugh remained silent, they asked no questions, spoke no opinions. Only once the questions were done and Raj sat back, exhausted from answers, did Aria speak.

“We are celebrating tonight.” She said standing suddenly and pulling the Herald to her feet. “You will join us.” 

Raj blinked in surprise and confusion but smiled wanly. “Alright, What are we celebrating?” 

Lugh smiled. “Your return and the closing of the Lady’s wound.” 

Raj frowned, her expression thoughtful. “But we haven’t-“

“We celebrated now because we have faith that you will.” Aria rested her hands on Raj’s shoulders. “You carry a burden, but tonight you may set it aside and enjoy yourself. Pick it up tomorrow.” 

It was advice he was willing to take himself.

  
  
  
  


The Avvar celebration tonight was larger than the last. Cullen was reluctant to join as the last time had… confused things. But he had told Aria he would attend, and he was not entirely certain she wouldn’t appear to quite literally drag him to it if he dallied too long. And the mages had been drawn into the revelry, while the few templars he had with him were… he wouldn’t say ‘unwelcome’, but they were definitely kept from the heart of the celebration. A place where he was allowed to go because of his… attachment to Aria Sky Touched. He might not be a templar any longer, but he at least could keep an eye on the situation.

He waited until the revelry was under way before approaching, hoping that he would be mostly unnoticed. The presence of magic as he neared the fires made his skin prickle. He could see some of the Avvar mages demonstrating spells to the rebel mages and out of habit turned his steps to observe. The music was loud, drums and pipes and an odd stringed instrument he had never seen before, and there was dancing about the fires. A cry went up in the Avvar language and was repeated demandingly, and Cullen looked about for the reason of the shouting only to, of course, find Aria Sky Touched.

Her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing and shaking her head even as the mages near her began beating their staffs against the ground. The Herald suddenly burst from a group of dancers with a cry of, “Commander!” She stumbled to him, her eyes bright and gleaming in the firelight and her ears and cheeks flushed. She grabbed the front of his shirt and grinned. “Convince her! We want to see the storm dance!”

“I…” The what?

“Go on, ask her! She’ll do it if you ask her!” The Herald demanded, and then a large hand was planted between his shoulder blades and he was shoved forward by one of the warriors.

“Aye, go ask her to dance for you!”

He had left his armor in his cabin to avoid the possible indignity of having to remove it under watch and he regretted it. He felt… oddly small among the Avvar. He was unused to the feeling, and the missing bulk of his armor only exacerbated it. And then he found himself eye to eye with Aria Sky Touched. She grinned openly at him and then reached out and messed his hair. 

“Godendwlid! I am glad to see you here! There will be games soon!”

He was nudged unsubtly by the warrior behind him. 

Aria’s eyes focused over his shoulder and narrowed. “You are not laying hand-”

“Nay! Fret not, we will not take the boy.” The warrior laughed. “We just gather he would have better hand at swaying you, aye?”

Boy?! Cullen found himself both indignant at being called a boy and relieved that Aria’s claim was enough to avoid… that possible catastrophe.

She laughed. “Perhaps.” Aria refocused on him and grinned and cocked her hip out and rested a hand on it. “What is it then, Godendwlid?” 

The Herald was giving him a pleading expression, going so far as to clasp her hands under her chin. He sighed and accepted the drink shoved into his hands by a passing Avvar. “Would you be inclined to perform the ‘storm dance’?” 

Her eyebrows flew up. “It involves magic.”

He glanced pointedly at the Avvar Mages sending gouts of flame and ice into the air competitively and then back to her, apparently one of the most famed of the Avvar mages. “No. Really?” It came out drier than he intended, but she laughed and stepped back with a sweeping bow.

“For you, Godendwlid, the storm dance.” 

Almost the instant the words were out of her mouth, the Avvar shouted and then drew back, leaving a wide, clear area around her. He probably should have moved with them.

She clapped her hands together over her head, and when she pulled them apart, arcs of storm magic crackled between her palms. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and then she was moving, a deadly, graceful flow of power and control as she spun and sent the storm magic between her hands whipping around her in exactly controlled arcs and whirls, sometimes leaping and spinning through the dangerous lightning. It was impressive, a display of precision and deadliness like nothing he had ever seen before. She began twirling and the lightning spiraled around her until it was coiled closely enough to her to make him have to bite back a warning shout, and then she stomped her foot to the ground and threw her arms out and bowed as the lightning arced away from her in a brilliant, snarling explosion that whipped by him but never brushed him.

Cheers broke out, staves and feet pounding the earth and wolf howls.

She was panting, her teeth bared in a near feral grin as she straightened and practically prowled towards him. “What do you think, Godendwlid?”

He realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it sharply. “I…” He had no words. He had never seen anything like it in his life. The control, the power, the… He realized there was a drink in his hands and drained it in one burning, painful go. He coughed and forced out a lame. “Good. I think it is… good.” 

She laughed, apparently accepting of his paltry praise, and slapped him amiably on the shoulder before prowling off. He found himself following in her wake without thought. His cup was filled and he was jostled with friendly greetings as he walked after her. She seemed to have a destination in mind, though she stopped often to speak with some of the Avvar, clasping arms and slapping shoulders, and at one point, hauling back and punching someone in the stomach, much to everyone’s amusement.

Several times she would reach back and put her hand on the back of his neck and pull him closer to meet someone, introducing him as ‘Commander Godendwlid’ each time with a tone of pride in her voice. There were too many names for him to keep track of, but the back of his neck felt warm long after her fingers left it and the weak part of him always eager to please was glowing with every satisfied glance Aria gave him after an introduction.

Eventually, her steps brought them to what appeared to be the central fire. He could see Lugh sitting with the Herald on his lap, his hands balancing a drink in one hand and a flickering light in the other that seemed to be forming shapes. The Tevinter mage was there as well, his face flushed and a baffled smile on his face as one of the Avvar, Torg something, leaned in close with an all too familiar admiring expression. Solas was there, speaking quietly with the Skywatcher, and Sera was… riding on a warrior woman’s shoulders, shrieking in delight. 

Varric and The Iron Bull were there too, though The Iron Bull was currently sitting with a red headed Avvar and… Maker’s breath! They were in public!

Cullen felt his face heat up and he tried to turn his eyes away from the pair. The moment’s inattention was long enough for Aria to be swept off by a group of curious mages and he faltered, unsure of what to do now. Perhaps he could leave? She had seen him, had… shown him off, was his required presence fulfilled? 

“Commander Godendwlid, come!” Lugh called out. “We are about to begin the trials!”

Trials? Oh no. But he turned his steps towards the Avvar warrior.

Trials turned out to mean a chess competition. That… was a relief. Less of a relief was seeing the losing competitors tossed into the snow banks. It was… a little amusing. There was a background roar of people climbing the cliffs again and dancers. Lugh sat in the center of a trio of chess boards, watching quietly as people competed. Cullen was shoved into a seat and easily beat the warrior facing him. The loser was tossed in the snow and someone shoved a drink into his hand again with a congratulatory slap to his shoulder that stung. 

This… wasn’t so bad. He took a polite sip of the drink, then set it aside and focused on setting up the board as the next opponent took the chair opposite of him. In fact, this was… fun. He won three rounds and then the chair was moved away and the bulk of The Iron Bull moved into the space it had been in.

“Having fun?” The qunari grinned.

“Yes, actually.” He really was. And so far he had avoided being tossed into the snow. 

“Avvar know how to throw a party. I think I saw someone spitting fire. Not a mage either.”

Not a mage? Spitting fire? Cullen half wanted to go see how they managed that, but The Iron Bull made his opening move and it looked like an aggressive strategy. This game was far more challenging than the previous ones. The qunari was sharp and had no qualms sacrificing his ranking pieces.

Someone was heaved from the table next to them and into the snow to a roar of laughter.

Yes, the Avvar did know how to throw a party. 

  
  
  
  


Leliana was finding herself fascinated with the Avvar revelry. It was… chaotic and savage in a delightfully open and friendly way. Mages competed and openly showed off spells while warriors wrestled or pulled against each other on ropes. The ice cliff climbing was an impressive sight, as was the Fire Breathers. Apparently the Avvar had learned an art of spitting fire through the means of a chemical and a torch. They refused to elaborate to a ‘lowlander’ but it was still intriguing. 

She did quickly discover it best to not linger too long near the natural shadowed alcoves in the rocks and trees. The Avvar were incredibly open about… everything. 

She also discovered that it was best to keep moving lest she be dragged into one of their games. Twice already a drink had been shoved into her hand, and she had been propositioned by a red faced Avvar mage. She was sweet, but Leliana had no interest at the moment, and in the seeming typical Avvar fashion, the mage easily accepted her refusal and moved off to rejoin the games. Leliana wandered towards the central fire where there was a crowd gathered and watching something with bated breath. The Iron Bull was laughing and hauling himself out of a snow drift even as Avvar mages dumped more snow onto it. 

Leliana blinked in surprise as she wove through the crowd and found, incongruously enough, a trio of chess boards. Solas was playing against Lugh and a grinning, flushed Aria Sky Touched was just taking the seat across from… Commander Rutherford. Leliana had honestly not expected to see him here, let alone… relaxed with a half empty drink by his elbow as he set up the chess board with a crooked smile. His armor was gone and he laughed at something the Avvar mage princess said. 

Interesting. 

Solas made a noise in his throat as he sat back and frowned at the board between him and Lugh. “It seems you have me in three…”

Lugh nodded. “Aye.” 

The apostate considered the board and moved and then the Avvar grinned. “Now ‘tis one.” 

“Best not to prolong my inevitable humiliation.” Solas sighed. “I concede.” 

Immediately a cheer went up from the watchers and a pair of warriors grabbed the apostate and… threw him bodily into the snow dune The Iron Bull had just exited. 

Lugh laughed as Solas somehow seemed to retain his dignity as he pulled himself out of the snow bank. “Any more?”

There were a chorus of ‘nays’ and she briefly considered playing him, but decided she was more interested in the Sky Touched’s game with the Commander. They were both glaring at the board intently. 

“Brother, I think… you will not be playing me this time.” Aria said, making a small bemoaned sound as the Commander took one of her pieces. “I am too distracted it seems.”

The Commander made a scoffing sound. “By what?”

Aria smirked and reached out to ruffle the poor man’s hair. “There, better.”

Cullen’s face flushed and he moved his piece. “The- The game…”

Aria looked triumphant and moved to capture the piece. “Godendwlid, you are too easy to fluster!” She laughed and then was playfully slapped on the back of the head by one of the Avvar watching. 

“No cheating, sister.” Lugh reprimanded with a grin. 

“Tis not cheating! Tis tactics!” She protested. 

The Commander’s eyes narrowed on her before moving again this time more confidently. “Your move, Darling.”

Aria’s eyes widened and she flushed before focusing on the board and quickly moving a piece. 

Amund bellowed a laugh from where he was leaning against a tree watching the game. “It seems two can play at that, Sky Touched.” 

Aria shouted something at him in the Avvar tongue that sent the group surrounding into peels of laughter. 

The game went on more seriously after that, until finally the Commander declared her in checkmate and Aria threw up her hands. “If I was petty I would blame the drink.” She said dramatically, then held out her arms. “Come on. Best to get it over with.” 

Leliana stifled a giggle as the barbarian princess was lifted from her chair and heaved into the snow with cheers and shouts. 

The Commander was laughing as well as Aria rose from the drift and shook snow from her hair and face dramatically. Freely laughing and open in a way she had never seen him before. He truly was a handsome man.

Lugh stood and laughed. “Tis good I be not the only one who can cool your head, sister.” 

“I do not think he cools her head-!” A warrior started to shout and then was cut off by a fist to the stomach. 

Lugh rolled his eyes and settled across from the Commander. “Tis down to you and I, it seems, Godendwlid.” 

“So it seems.” Cullen chuckled as they started setting back up the board.

The Herald moved to stand behind Lugh and rested her chin on his shoulder to watch. She was red eared and smiling in the lax way that meant she was truly drunk, and Leliana could see her eyes starting to droop as the pair played in silent, methodical turns. Both seemed to carefully consider each other and the entire board before moving. 

Aria went to stand over Cullen’s shoulder and someone produced a chair for the Herald to sit in before she fell over. Leliana accepted a drink and pretended to drink it as she watched the four. It was an interesting tableau. The Herald leaned on Lugh the Patient and he supported her as he quietly and methodically moved his pieces, taking his time with every move. 

Aria prowled around the table with her drink, switching views and watching from different angles, but gravitating back to peer over the Commander’s shoulder, sometimes ruffling his hair approvingly when he took one of Lugh’s pieces. The poor man couldn’t seem to decide on being embarrassed or pleased by her attention. Perhaps there was hope for a love match as well as a match of alliance. 

The chess match however… it was unclear who would win. Both side’s pieces dwindled evenly, though they stayed fairly matched. The Herald’s soft snores marked the hour mark, and they were still playing. Down to four pieces each, both had lost their queens and it looked to be in Cullen’s favor as he still held a bishop and two knights in addition to his king. Cullen made a triumphant noise as he took Lugh’s last Knight, leaving him with a pawn and a rook, but Lugh just nodded and moved the pawn he had freed in the sacrifice… to Cullen’s side of the board and switched it for his queen. 

“Check.” 

Cullen groaned and covered his face. “I should have seen that. You have me in two. I can only retreat to the corner.”

“Aye. Most people overlook the simple pieces.” Lugh shrugged, then glanced at her pointedly and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards before he looked back at the Commander. “Shall we play it out?”

Cullen sighed. “No. I concede.”

Aria Sky Touched groaned. “Is there no one who can defeat you?” Then stopped a grinning warrior with a raised hand. “Nay, I’ll do it.” 

Cullen startled and started to shake his head, “Maker, I-” Then yelped and jumped to his feet when she shoved a double handful of snow down the back of his shirt. 

Lugh roared a laugh as the Commander worked to get the snow from his shirt. “Too cruel for a noble loss, sister.” He ducked and scooped up some snow and threw it at Aria, hitting her in the face. 

Aria was surprisingly calm as she wiped the snow from her face and gave Lugh a flat look. “Rules, specific and clear.”

Lugh grinned. “No magic to assist. Teams.” 

“Accepted.” Aria reached out and snagged Cullens sleeve, “with me, Godendwlid.”

Leliana wisely stepped back and narrowly avoided being drawn into the snow fight that quickly spread through the entire camp. There were two teams, led by the twins, and it was… exhilarating to watch. 

The Commander seems to be in his element ,once his embarrassment seemed to wear off, and was laughing, at one point actually dropping his shoulder and tackling another warrior into a snowbank before they could throw their snowball toward Aria. It was… childish in a way, but yet the game was entertaining. More entertaining when Lugh ended up absolutely pelted by thrown snow, Aria’s team seeming to want him out of the running right off. The game ran, and sprawled, and dissipated as those hit by snow moved back to their fires and tents. 

Leliana stayed near the tree she had chosen for cover, and the vantage point allowed her the perfect view of the barbarian princess flying out from behind her cover and bodily tackling the commander, sending them both tumbling away from an onslaught of snowballs. Aria and the commander rolled to a halt, the avvar straddling his waist and her hands planted on either side of his head in a very compromising position. They stared at each other with wide eyes, chests heaving and Leliana resisted the urge to yell a very unladylike ‘just kiss already’. And then the moment was spoiled when a snowball hit Aria in the side of the face and she scrambled off of him with a red face and stalked away quickly. 

The Commander for his part didn’t move for several long moments and just laid there, his hands going to cover his red face. 

The Skywatcher approached and came to a halt beside the Commander, looking down at him with an amiable smile. “At that rate you will be beyond the childing years before aught happens.” 

“Maker…” Cullen groaned and pushed himself up to sit but he didn’t seem inclined to stand just yet. “I wouldn’t- I- I don’t even know what’s expected… 

The Skywatcher tilted his head slightly. “From who?” 

“Me?” Cullen said uncertainly.

The giant Avvar made an ‘ah’ sound. “She would be expecting you to have your thane speak to hers, then you would steal her away if ye be able, and unbind the knots.” 

Cullen’s head snapped up and he looked at the Skywatcher in what could only be described as horror. “What?!” 

“Tis the way of our people.” The man shrugged. “She has not set you afire yet, tis a good sign she does not mind your eye.” 

Cullen blanched and the Avvar laughed. “There are no binds on you, Commander Godendwlid. Do as you will.”

Leliana had to stifle a laugh at the Commander's baffled expression as the Skywatcher took his leave. 

Tonight had been enlightening… and entertaining in equal measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this update was after so long, life got crazy and I have too many pans in the fire lol - A&F


	17. Chapter 17

Raj knew she should’ve stopped drinking after two drinks… but she needed last night, to forget, just for the night, the horrors of the future she and Dorian had gone through. The tainted echos in their voices… the enchantress encased in lyrium… She had drunk way too much. Lugh must have made sure she had taken that wonderful potion of Arias’ to avoid a hangover as she felt… fine, if groggy. And warm. She really had missed being warm on the trip to Redcliff and back, the sound of people breathing, alive and well, nearby. 

She was back in the twins’ loft, curled up between Aria and Lugh and… She wondered if the Commander had fallen in bed with Aria again and lifted her head to check. There was indeed the Commander on the other side of Aria. With his shirt still on this time, but still curled around her, arm across her stomach and face pressed into her hair. He was oddly adorable for a shem. 

Raj couldn’t really remember much of last night, had drunk herself into a stupor fairly early. But… she felt better now that she had reveled and survived and slept. It was a relief to wake up with something close to… clan. She wished she could stay like this until she could go back to her home.

She sighed. But there were people outside that relied on her. She needed to close the breach today. Maybe afterwards she could go back to her aravel.

“Fret after we have eaten.” Lugh grumbled sleepily as he rolled over to face her and raised up on an elbow. “How do you feel?”

Raj let out a long breath and answered honestly. “Better than yesterday.”

“Good.” He reached out and brushed the back of a knuckle under her eye. “You look as if you have finally rested after a long journey.”

Because she had. But she couldn’t stay in bed. She needed to face the world and try to close the breach. “I have to…”

“Fret after you have eaten.” He groaned and sat up. He glanced at his sister and then huffed. “Should we wake them and get to see their reaction, or let them rest?” 

Raj looked at them, then cast Lugh an impish smile. “I kinda want to wake her up, she was asleep last time and the commander left.”

“You speak wisely.” He grinned and then reached over her and nudged Aria’s shoulder with one finger. “Time to rise, sister.” 

Aria stretched, arching her back slightly as she came awake, then froze. Her eyes flew open to look down at the arm across her middle. Raj had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing as Arias eyes followed the arm up until she was staring face to sleep lax face with the Commander. Aria’s mouth moved in a silent curse even as her face flushed red.

Raj could practically see Aria’s mind trying to figure out how to get up without waking the man. Feeling mischievous, she reached out and nudged the Commander’s hand, grinning when Aria hissed a frantic. “No, don’t!” 

The Commander sighed and moved, pulling Aria closer to him in his sleep and buried his face into the crook of her neck. Lugh snickered at Aria’s stifled squeak. The sound made the shem’s eyes flutter open and he blinked at Raj in obvious confusion, then at Lugh, then down to Aria under his arm, who was stone still and staring at the ceiling, her face flaming red. 

Raj had never seen a man jump up so fast, cracking his head against the low ceiling with a yelp, and she couldn’t resist. “Next time, Lugh and I will give you two some privacy, Commander.”

“Next-” His face paled and he looked down at his state of dress, grabbing at his shirt as if reassuring himself it was still there, and looked slightly relieved before blushing. “I-” 

“Fawk yew!” Aria grumbled and covered her red face with a hand. “Tis fine, Godendwlid. Too much drink, aye?”

The Commander ran a hand over his face and muttered something about swearing off drink in the same embarrassed tone Aria had. Raj was finding this delightful. It was nice to not be the one out of their depth. 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast, Godendwlid?” Lugh asked with a perfectly bland, innocent tone. 

“It would be rude to refuse, Commander.” She grinned then yelped when Aria’s finger dug into her side.

“Aye. you would not wish to be rude, especially after my sister was so kind as to lend you a pillow.” Lugh said evenly as he moved out of the bed area. 

“Or two.” Raj added and then yelped again when Aria punched her, lightly, but… ow. 

“Maker’s breath.” The Commander covered his face with his hands and this was hilarious.

“I am going to kill you both.” Aria groaned and pulled a blanket over her face. 

“I am certain.” Lugh laughed and Raj inhaled a deep, bracing breath. 

She would be alright. She had the twins and the Avvar mages at her back. She wasn’t alone. 

And… she had Tyrdda reborn as her friend and ally.

Who was currently hiding beneath her blankets as the Commander blushed over her. It was hard to think of things as world ending and horrible when legends were just… people.

Everything would be alright.

  
  
  
  


Lugh watched as Raj walked towards the Lady’s Wound. She was small, a shadow against a giant, and so strong. Her narrow shoulders square, her sharp jaw set, her eyes determined. She walked with the courage of one deeply afraid and doing as they must anyway. He admired her for it.

Solas shouted direction to the Blessed gathered to support her and Lugh listened and gathered his magic to assist. Rows and rows of mages, lowlander and Avvar both, lifted their staves and hands towards the small, proud figure of Raj’Sileal. They were here for her, the Healer of the Lady’s Wounds, and he wove a prayer for her success into his magic as he gave it to her to use as it needed to be. 

The mingled power of all of the blessed gathered swept past and through him, rushing towards Raj as she lifted her hand to the breach. Lugh’s aura shook with the strength of it and he prayed to whatever god might be listening as the blinding green light connected Raj and the Lady’s wound. 

There was a shuddering in the sky and beyond the blinding light of the power, Lugh thought he could feel relief from the gods as with one last violent shaking of the world, the Lady’s Wound was healed. 

It was done. And Raj… she was brilliant, grinning in triumph even as she fell to her knees, exhausted. He started for her, to help her back to her feet, but then he noted the crush of people moving to congratulate her and stayed his path. He did not wish to overwhelm her, already there were too many ‘shemlen’ for her comfort. He did stand still where he could see her, ready to rush forward if the lowlanders proved too much, but she allowed Cassandra the Seeker to pull her to her feet, and then her large, brilliant eyes searched through the crowd and her face lit up again with a weary smile when she caught sight of him. 

He sent her a smile and a nod which made her face light up even more. Gods she was- a hand settled on his arm and he turned to find Aria still looking at the place where the Lady’s wound had been. 

“It has only just started.” Her voice was a whisper but her words shook him from the elation of the crowd's cheers. 

“The birds have been restless.” The Skywatcher said from behind Aria. “Something evil is coming.”

“Aye.” Aria said. “It is necessary it reaches our walls. Beyond that… I cannot see clearly.”

Lugh felt dread at their words. He knew they had been preparing for a battle that Aria was certain they would lose. And now it was upon them. “I will gather the Avvar.”

“Inside the walls.” Aria looked at the sky. “We do not wish to lose more of our people than we can prevent.”

He nodded and searched out the clan leaders he knew on sight. He would spread the word, and they would prepare. 

The Lady’s wound was healed, but the force that harmed her remained. And it was coming. 

  
  
  


Cullen was feeling… optimistic. It was a rather nice feeling. The breach had been closed, and the Herald was still alive. The people and soldiers were celebrating inside of Haven. Flissa had opened a table out the door of the tavern to serve drinks quickly and Cullen even had a bitter ale in his hands, though he was only pretending to drink. The Herald had asked that the council remain sober and armored, but waking up in Aria’s bed again was enough to make him wary of overdrinking again. The Skywatcher’s words had been plaguing him and he did not want her to think he would… take advantage. 

The thought of the Avvar had his steps turning towards the outer walls to see what the mountain people were up to. Surely their celebrations should have been heard by now?

He found himself feeling slightly uneasy when he found no fires or dancing outside the walls. Instead, he found crowds of the massive people quietly packing down their tents and things. He stopped by one of the people Aria had introduced him to. He could not remember their name, but they were a leader of some sort. “Are you leaving?”

The Avvar glanced up at the sky. “The Lady be healed, but the Skywatcher and the Sky Touched say the day sits ill.”

With that, the woman turned back to shout to her people and moved away from him, though that had not been… a reasonable answer at all. He searched out the one name he did remember, Torg, and found him packing up his own things with his people. The Tevinter mage was watching with a bemused expression, leaning on his staff.

“Commander Godendwlid. The Skywatcher says to gather what ye cannot bear to lose.” The massive man said.

The Altus suddenly startled. “Wait. Why did you insist on dragging me out here again?” 

Torg just grinned at him and shoved a few more items into his pack. “Why do you think?” He laughed at the mage’s shocked expression before addressing Cullen again. “Gather what you value, Lowlander, afore it is gone, aye?” After a pause he added pointedly. “The Sky Touched is by her cabin.” 

Cullen frowned but thanked him and headed for the cabin. The closer he got the more uneasy he felt, shelters had been torn down, firepits filled, everything looked like it was about to be abandoned. The sense of unease grew as he reached the twins’ cabin and found Aria tying a trunk onto her undead horse’s saddle. It was laden with packs, and as he approached, Lugh emerged with a quiet. “That is everything.”

Aria nodded and said something in her native tongue to the horse, then slapped it’s rump and sent it off into the dimming light. She startled when she saw him. “Commander.”

The title sounded odd on her lips and he frowned. “Is all well, Aria?”

She glanced at him and pressed her lips together, her eyes flicking down to the drink in his hands. “It is uncertain.”

Lugh sighed and gripped his sister’s shoulder, shaking her slightly in a comforting gesture. He said something softly in their language and then moved off with a quiet. “I will seek out Raj and speak with her.” 

Aria nodded, but her eyes flitted back up to the sky with a pensive expression and they stood there in silence for a long moment.

“You are not celebrating.” Cullen blurted out, unnerved by her unusually serious demeanor. “I- you could join us?”

Her eyes slowly moved to him from the sky and she gave him an expression that seemed to be intended as a smile but was more than a grimace. “We will see how the night falls, aye? I think it best I keep a clear head.” Her eyes flitted to the drink in his hand. “And you should as well, Commander, if you wish things to go in your favor.”

With that, she brushed by him and moved to speak to a group of Avvar gathering up their things.

Cullen suddenly, vividly, remembered the Skywatcher’s words. ‘Your thane would speak to her thane, and then you would steal her away.’ Wasn’t Lugh the acting thane for the Avvar gathered here? Was… was she expecting him to…? 

“I would never force you.” The words were torn from his mouth before he could think the better of them and he felt his face immediately flush at the embarrassment of his own words. 

Aria paused in her steps and glanced at him over her shoulder with a puzzled furrow between her brows before she nodded. “You have woken in my bed twice now, Godendwlid. I know.” She hesitated before giving him that grimacing smile again. “Tis best to be inside the walls tonight, Godendwlid. The air is heavy with malice.” 

With that, she moved away again, and now that she had spoken, he noted that the packing Avvar were moving… into Haven. They never went into Haven outside of short, necessary trips to clean or work, let alone so many at once. He was not one to put much stock in superstition (yes, he was, a traitorous gold coin in his pocket whispered), but for an entire people to suddenly move into the walls that Aria had been feverishly repairing and strengthening, the escape route that Aria had discovered and ordered cleared and prepared…

He glanced at the twins’ cabin, dark and empty, then cursed and tossed his full drink aside. Superstition or not, a woman capable of moving an entire people like this is not to be ignored. He hurried towards Haven and searched out Leliana. She was sipping at a goblet in her tent, a smile on her face, as it always is. “Commander. Back to fretting already?”

“The Avvar know something.” He blurted out, then rubbed the back of his neck because he couldn’t figure out how to explain the sudden sense of foreboding.

“They know a great many things.” Leliana sighed, then set aside her drink. “What is it? The Herald already has me drinking water instead of wine.”

“They’re acting as if they’re expecting an attack.” It sounded ridiculous, but it rang true. “We should-”

An alarm bell rang.

Maker’s Breath.

  
  
  
  
  


This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Raj dodged a sword and rammed her dagger into the armpit of the red lyrium addled templar. They barely looked human. Lugh had warned that Aria and the Skywatcher both had a bad feeling for tonight, that they expected some evil. She had set up extra watches to put him at ease, and because she truly didn’t know exactly what Aria was… She stopped drinking and kept her armor on, had asked the council members she could find to do the same.

She knew it was silly, but she had hoped… She had hoped with the sky healed she could go home. That she was done being a hero and could go back to her clan and aravels. Perhaps introduce Lugh and Aria to Keeper Deshanna but…

It was silly. The breach may have been closed, but the one who had done it was still out there and he was attacking them with corrupted templars and a blighted dragon. The boy who had come to warn them was flitting along nearby, disappearing and reappearing in wisps of smoke as he defended as many as he could with his twin daggers. Aria had hugged him when she saw him, grabbing him tight and whispering in her language before releasing him and drawing her bow. 

Cullen had rallied the forces behind her and sent the trebuchets flying, burying most of the force under tons of snow. The Avvar had let out a loud, approving roar at that, but there were still so many corrupted templars. 

Lugh’s ax cut through a skeletal, glowing templar approaching her and he glanced over her quickly before moving to Lysette. “To the Chantry, quickly.”

The templar saluted and hurried off, and then there was a scream from the tavern. Raj raced for the burning building, coughing through the smoke and her eyes watering as she forced her way in. Flissa was trapped and she had to help. She grabbed the smouldering beam, ignoring the pain, and lifted, barely budging the heavy wood, but it was enough for Lugh to grab Flissa and pull her from beneath it. He shoved them both out of the tavern and then they were moving again. Fighting, helping people injured by the dragon’s attacks… her eyes felt gritty and sore and her hands ached from moving burning wood and fight after fight. Lugh’s magic washed over her hands as he grabbed her wrists, healing them. 

“To the chantry. There is naught more we can do.”

She nodded curtly and raced for the old stone building. Aria and the boy were there when they made it, supporting Chancellor Roderick between them. Aria was cursing the man soundly.

“He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” The odd boy said as they carried him in. 

Raj felt a terrible sense of numbness wash over her, drowning out the man’s response with a roaring in her ears. Another one dying. Cullen was talking to her, his tone and expression defeated and desperate. 

“-doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“Why?” She said numbly, then shook her head and rubbed her eyes. There was blood on her hands. 

“I don’t know. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him.” The boy said fretfully. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like him?” Cullen said incredulously.

Lugh rested his hand carefully on her shoulder and she leaned into it. He was steady and strong. There was blood on his hand too.

“My sister has prepared the secret paths the chancellor told her of. The villagers can escape.” 

The Commander’s mouth opened and then closed and he looked relieved. “The avalanche slowed them. We can… we can get the people out and someone- I can stay and launch the trebuchets. Bury haven.” 

“No.” Aria said suddenly, then followed it with a spiel of words in their twin speak that had Lugh’s hand tightening on her shoulder slightly. 

Raj closed her eyes and prayed for courage. She was right. The Inquisition needed their commander. She had closed the sky. She was done. “I-” Her voice cracked. “I will do it. He is after me. I can buy everyone some time.” 

“What of your escape?” Cullen asked.

Raj opened her eyes and felt… very young and very small. Aria was watching her with a broken expression and it was enough to make her put on a smile. Aria and Lugh had helped so much. Everything from cleaning Haven to keeping her warm and fed to bringing in an army. It was her turn to help. 

“Well. Between all of our gods, maybe I can surprise it.” She patted Lugh’s hand and then forced herself to push it off of her shoulder. 

“Right.” Cullen gave her a pained look and then turned and began shouting orders. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we are above the tree line.”

Aria came over and grabbed Lugh by his shirt growling something at him in their twin speak before pulling him into a hug, Raj could see tears under her lashes despite her growling tone. Aria was scared. 

Lugh held his sister tightly and murmured back in their twin speak, agreeing with a slight nod and a kiss to her braided hair. 

Aria nodded into his shoulder then stepped back and looked at her, the smile she gave was grieved, but she stepped up and Raj found herself in the woman’s arms, being held in a desperate hug, then just as suddenly released as Aria stepped back but kept her hands on her shoulders. “Be safe, sister.” 

Raj barely had time to register the claim before Aria withdrew completely… and punched Torgs arm, “Do not die.”

“I will do my best, Sky Touched, but I have a pretty mage to impress, aye?” Torg said in a reassuringly teasing tone. 

“Aye. And it will impress best if you return.” Aria said with a weak laugh.

She gave each of them another look before she brought her fist up to her mouth, then pressed it to Lugh’s chest. “Breeng thehm hohm.”

He covered her fist with his hand and patted it. “Ay wihl.” 

There was no more time and Aria withdrew with a jerking nod before she moved to help the boy carry the chancellor to the path and Lugh and Torg both readied their axes and moved to stand behind her.

She nodded at the commander and then gave Torg and Lugh a head shake. “You do not have to follow me.”

“Aye. We know.” Torg said simply, but did not move away to follow the people hurrying after Aria and the boy.

Alright then. She drew her daggers and inhaled deeply and breathed out a prayer to the Creators to guide them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring them home.  
> I will.


	18. Chapter 18

Torg knew he was a fool. He was not such a fool as to think he was not. He was the bratty spawn of a redhead. He acted without thought and was too stubborn for his own good. He knew these things. 

But he was not incapable of learning. 

The wisdom of the Avvar said that Aria Sky Touched knew of what she spake. That Lugh the Patient did not give wayward advice. Wisdom said when the twins spake: one listened.

Aria Sky Touched protected the Healer of the Lady and Lugh the Patient followed her wholeheartedly.

Torg could learn, and so he would protect the Healer of the Lady and follow her into battle. Perhaps he may earn his legend mark this way, rise above the pall of being his father’s redspawned brat. There was a beautiful Lowlander mage who blushed prettily when he complimented him that he would like to impress.

The Patient’s protective magic settled over them as they fought their way to the lowlander weapon The Clever Commander had used to bring down the mountains in the pass. They were to bury the lowlander hold and the corrupted army with it, and if the gods favored them not, bury themselves with it to save the bulk of their peoples. 

Lugh’s ax cut through the skull of an addled monster and he snarled in their mother tongue as he sent out a cage of lightning. “ _ There is a path below the ground. _ ”

Torg swung his maul and shattered the sword arm of another. “ _ Aye? _ ”

“ _ We must take to it when the dragon descends _ .”

The Healer’s daggers flashed as she leaped up onto the shoulder crystals of a behemoth and drove them into its spine. She rode the beast down as lightly as a ram on a cliff and pointed with a dripping blade to the weapon. “Turn it towards the mountain!”

Torg left off fighting to obey her order, trusting Lugh’s magic and ax to protect his back as he set his strength to the wheel she had indicated. The massive construct groaned as he forced it about as quickly as he could so he could rejoin the fight. Seeing the Healer battle in truth was enough for him to know that had Aria not halted him, he would have died challenging her. She was as insubstantial as a wisp as she used her small size and agility to practically disappear beneath the shadows of her larger enemies.

There were too many even for ones such as The Healer and The Patient, he must hurry before-

Lugh let out a pained shout. The protective magic over them flickered and failed and Torg gave the wheel one last heave, forcing the weapon into place, before turning to the renowned mage. 

Lugh wrenched a blade from his leg and turned it against the one who had struck him even as the limb gave out beneath him. Torg hefted his maul and removed the threat, cursing the man’s foolishness. “You should not have removed the blade!” He scolded through gritted teeth. Everyone knew that!

“My ax is gone.” The mage said evenly and pressed his hands to his leg with a weak flicker of healing magic. “Gods help us, I have not enough to heal it to usefulness.” 

“Torg! Get him out of here!” The Healer commanded, as she turned her head to the sky.

“Aye,” He grabbed Lugh’s arm and then cursed as he had to drop his maul to free his hands to support the man. “ _ Where is the path?” _

“There.” He pointed to an open area of ground (the same opening that the Sky Touched had ordered cleared) and Torg set off for it, practically dragging Lugh with him. The healer let out a curse behind them and he heard the growl of the corrupted and the wet slice of a blade entering flesh. Another several paces were covered as he supported Lugh away from the sound of battle and then The Healer let out another loud curse moments before a shock of pain ripped through his side.

The impact of an arrow made him stumble forward and he gritted his teeth and moved faster as the hair on the back of his neck rose to the cry of a dragon descending. His side burned but he brought Lugh to the path and lowered him in. He turned to go aid the Healer but Lugh caught his ankle. “No. It will kill you but not her.” He said urgently. 

He was not so much a fool as to question it, but his blood burned in anger at leaving one behind. He cursed and dropped into the hidden path beside Lugh and quickly inspected the arrow in his side. Lugh batted his hands away and sent a weak flicker of magic through him. 

“It has not touched anything vital. I have not the strength to heal it now.” The Patient said in apology. “And I gave the last of my potions to Raj.”

Torg nodded in understanding. The arrow must stay for now. He looked up at the sound of a deep, booming voice that seemed to come from nowhere and drew his knife.

Lugh did the same, but closed his eyes and his lips began moving in a prayer. This did not sit easy with Torg, letting the tiny Healer face alone whatever evil had torn open the Lady’s skin and had corrupted the Lowlander’s religious army. 

Lugh finished his prayer and winced when the voice declared that the Healer must die. He whispered in a determined tone. “She will run here when she brings down the mountain. We must get her back to our people as quickly as possible, ere she freezes.” 

She was a slip of a thing, not much meat to keep her bones warm and the wind had shifted during the evening and the birds had fled, a storm was coming on the wind. 

“Tis good we are not delicate as the lowlanders, aye?” He murmured in jest. The journey would be difficult with Lugh’s maimed leg and his wound, but with the coming storm it would be deadly. Many a strong warrior had been lost to driving snows.

There was a loud groan of the lowlander weapon being loosed and then a furious yell from that booming voice as the ground began to tremble with the force of the mountain’s fall. Torg faced the scant opening of the pathway with a prayer on his lips, facing the long stretch of breaths before the Healer’s slight form came flying into the opening. He caught her, biting back a cry of pain as it strained his wound, and turned and sheltered her with his body as the snow thundered overhead. Some of it fell into the opening, covering them in a heavy blanket of ice, and he stayed curled over her until Lugh’s hands dug them out.

The Healer looked up at them with wide, terrified eyes and Torg could feel her shaking as she smiled, baring her teeth in a victorious grimace. “We survived.”

The fight for their lives was not over, but Torg just helped stand her onto her feet. “Aye, we have.” 

  
  
  
  


Never in Josephine’s worst imaginings could she have prepared for this… this tragedy. It was like a nightmare come to life before her eyes. 

Haven was buried under a mountain of snow. Their Herald… was gone. Their base was gone. There was an army after them. Their Herald was gone. 

Josie felt a fragile sort of calm, like the soap bubbles in a spa that shimmered on the surface of the water but would burst at the lightest touch. Leli was blank faced as she organized her people. The Commander…

Aria Sky Touched had let out a pained, frightened sound when the signal had been released, had stared at the falling snow with her hand over her mouth and her face pale as ice. The Skywatcher spoke to her in their language and she nodded silently in answer, but no one went to comfort her at the… apparent loss of her brother. Neither Avvar warrior had come through the path behind them. 

The Commander looked as if he had been gutted as he barked orders to his men to get people moving to create a camp before the storm hit, but eventually his eye fell on Aria, silent and still, and he hesitated, but went to her. Josie knew better than to openly watch a couple so, but the world was falling apart around her and this… match was one of the last few things she could hope to count on. The Commander cautiously put his hand on Aria’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Maybe they survived.”

She let out a sudden sob and then clenched her eyes shut. “They did. They have to.” 

“Aria…” The Commander wavered but Aria shook her head and pulled her hand from her mouth.

“They live.” Aria inhaled slowly and then her shoulders straightened. “The Skywatcher is gathering our best hunters. We are going to seek them out.” 

“Aria-“ he started again but was cut off by her suddenly pulling him into an embrace, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she started crying. Her shoulders shook with the force of her tears as she sobbed out frantic words in her language. Josephine should not be witnessing this, but she could not find the will to turn her feet away from the scene. 

The Commander held her and started speaking low enough she could not hear his words.

“Josie.” Leliana’s voice startled her and she had to breathe in and blink rapidly to keep from crying herself at the figurative touch to her fragile calm. 

She composed herself and put on her practiced smile. “Yes?”

“The Avvar have… saved us.” Leliana said bluntly, but quietly enough for her voice not to carry. “We did not lose nearly as many people as we would have without the path, we are well supplied, and the Avvar are creating shelters for us before the storm hits us fully.” 

Josephine inhaled and touched her face gently to make sure her eyeliner did not run. “The… Commander is…” 

“I can see.” Leliana let out a slight sigh. “I do not know how the… match may progress if her brother is lost.” 

“The Avvar are gathering hunters to go after the Herald and her brother.” Josephine informed her. “Should we… send people with them?” 

Leliana looked pensive for a moment before shaking her head. “No, to do so would likely seem as if we do not trust them and at the moment we need their good will, now more than ever.”

“Of course.” There had to be… something she could do. Some task to occupy herself with. Something to keep her mind busy. Something to-

Her thoughts were interrupted by Leliana's touch to her arm, making her look up to see the Commander step back from Aria, one hand rubbing her arm before turning towards them. 

The Commander wiped snowflakes from his hair as he approached and gave them a grimly determined expression. “I am accompanying the hunters… and Aria in search of the Herald and the warriors with her.” 

Leliana’s eyes darted between him and the barbarian princess before she nodded sharply. “Of course.” 

The Commander jerked his chin in a nod then gestured to the Avvar warriors around them. “Just follow their lead. They know what they are doing and have more experience in these mountains than most of ours. You will not miss me while I am gone.”

Josephine watched the Commander trudge through the snow with Aria Sky Touched at his side and allowed herself to bite her lip, just once, in a nervous habit she had long since trained herself out of. “The Maker truly has a sense of humor, does he not?” She murmured. The fact that they were here due to the barbarians… that their tenuous future as the Inquisition rested on the massive shoulders of barbarians… that their most valuable resource was due to a barbarian princess taking a fancy to their Commander… 

“He truly does.” Leliana sighed. “Come, let us convey the Commander’s advice to the captains.” 

Josephine nodded and followed Leliana as she searched out their people. It was something to do. She tried to help where she could but, if she was honest with herself, she was only a hindrance to the massive warriors who herded their people through the snow. She tripped enough that one of them, a woman larger than Aria offered to carry her. 

The wind was howling through the trees and the snow was falling so thickly that you could barely see an arm’s length in front of yourself. Josephine had been confined to a, crude in her opinion, but sturdy shelter of boughs that somehow seemed warmer as the snow blanketed it. There was a group of children with her and it was… unsettling. She busied herself by beginning to teach them their letters as the storm raged outside. One of the older children had learned to write their name when a shout went up outside the shelter. 

It was the barbarian tongue first, but then it repeated and caught in Common. “The Herald!” 

The herald!? Her heart leapt in foolish hope but… she had to check, surely they had some reason to believe something so impossible. She extracted herself from the children who had somehow found their way onto her skirts and exited the shelter, pulling her cloak around herself tightly as she stepped out into the frigid wind. 

By the time she made her way to the center of the commotion, the Commander was carrying the Herald into a tent, closely followed by Solas and two of the Avvar. Aria was cursing through her teeth as she inspected the side of the other Avvar warrior, Torg, she believed his name was. There was an arrow through his side and he was laughing, a deep, relieved laugh that was precariously close to hysterical. Lugh was limping after the Herald, supported by another Avvar.

They were alive.

They had returned.

Yet another thing they owed to their Barbarian allies.

  
  
  
  
  


Despite a bruised back and many small cuts, he could find nothing wrong with the Herald. She was exhausted, cold, but in good health. However, Solas was worried as he ran his magic through her. 

The mark had been tampered with. Changed. Corypheous had tried to force it from her hand, and in doing so, it clung ever tighter to her. No, not even with his orb recovered would he be able to remove it without maiming the woman permanently. The mark was no longer on her hand. It was her hand, melded into every cell. 

There would be no method of removing it without harming her.

He closed his eyes and let the guilt wash over him briefly. When it was possible, he would do as he must, but even after so short of an aquaintance, he regretted having to harm such a courageous child. 

“Is she well?” Lugh’s voice drew him from his remorse.

“Exhausted, but well.” Solas reassured him. For now. “Thanks to your efforts.”

“I fear the feat was Torg’s, not my own. He is the one who guided us through the storm and kept me afoot.” The warrior sounded exhausted in his own right.

Solas made sure that Raj’Sileal was adequately protected from the cold before moving to lend his experience to the mage tending Lugh’s leg. It was a sword wound, deep into the muscle of the thigh and only marginally healed to halt the bleeding. Blood had frozen along the edges of the wound and had damaged the flesh beneath it. It would have to be removed before proper healing could begin. “This will scar, but you should not have any alteration to your movements.” 

“Ma serannas, arani.” The Avvar said quietly, and at Solas’ curious glance gave a weak, exhausted smile. “We talked much to keep us all awake.”

Solas nodded in understanding as he began healing. Falling unconscious in the snow was deadly, it was not surprising that Raj’sileal would focus on something challenging to keep her mind alert. Teaching a dead language she barely knew herself would indeed be a task capable of saving them from a frozen sleep. 

The man was asleep by the time he and the other mage had finished, and they were shortly joined by Aria, who was pushing a sleep-addled Torg towards one of the pallets prepared. She looked at Lugh with a profoundly sad expression before going to him and leaning down to press a light kiss to the top of his head. And then she turned on her heel and left. Solas made sure the three were warm and had no further injury before hurrying after her. He would find Raj’Sileal after she had awoken to tell her of Skyhold. 

He found Aria leaning against the tree the shelter was braced against, her arms folded but her hands tucked under her armpits for warmth. Her face was tilted towards the sky and her eyes were closed.

“They survived.” 

“Aye.” She breathed. “They survived and the story continues despite my meddling.”

“The argument could be made that they are alive because of your meddling.” He pointed out. Her supplies and planning and… had she truly known this would occur? 

“Aye.” She sighed with a wry twist of her mouth. “Banal nadas, aye?” 

He raised his eyebrow at the Elvhen saying. “Some of your people believe you to experience premonitions.” 

“My people believe many things.” She said, then unfolded her arms to rub her eyes. “I have not the energy to dance words with you, Solas. I walked away from my brother, unsure if he would live.” She looked at him with tired eyes. “I am but a woman who saw a storm in the distance and prepared my hold accordingly.” 

He watched her as she crossed her arms and looked back up at the sky… she did not want to dance with words… he frowned and decided that now might be the best time to ask the question he dared not until now. “Who is Tyrdda reborn?”

Aria tensed and then gave him a flat look with just a hint of curled lip. “Is it better to question one when they are drunken or when they are distraught?” 

He was taken aback slightly at the obvious disapproval, but was prevented from responding by words spilling into the air between them.

“Teodora. Teodora. Words clumsy in a too small mouth, the wrong language, the wrong sounds and shape. I’m not what you think. I don’t want a new name. Teodora. Lisping, stumbling, words too large for the wrong mouth. You didn’t want a new name, didn’t want a new life. You wanted to go home.” The spirit appeared beside her, wringing his hands and whispering urgently. 

Arias countenance immediately softened and she covered her eyes with her hand. “I couldn’t leave Lugh.” She said, Her voice cracked over her brother’s name.

“Yes. He was in danger and only you knew it. So you let him give you a new name.” The spirit (likely compassion, a rare spirit to see uncorrupted and whole in this world) looked at him with pale eyes. “She is reborn but not what they think.”

“Compassion…” She said softly. “I know you are trying to help, but it cannot be changed.” 

“You use the name to help.” 

“Aye. Just as you use your name to help.” She gave the spirit a wan smile. “Perhaps you should help my brother?”

The spirit paused and tilted his head. “He doesn’t need help. But she does.” The spirit disappeared quickly, leaving him facing Aria Sky Touched, who the spirit claimed to be reborn.

“Theodora.” He said, not sure if it was a question or simply tasting the foreign name. 

Aria made a slashing motion with her hand. “No.” She said just as sharply as the gesture. “Do not. I have become who I am. I will not go back to an older name.” 

“But-” Even dismissing the… impossible notion of a human being reborn, to have a spirit name her otherwise meant the name held some importance. 

“No.” She said and then stepped closer to him, intentionally using her height to try and intimidate. “Or shall I use your old name as well?” 

He felt all his curiosity drain away and replaced with wary shock. He narrowed his eyes at her. “My name has alway been Solas.” It was true, it was his true name. What did she know?

“One of them.” She said with a tight lipped smile. “And my name is Sky. Aria Sky Touched. Is not that right,  _ Solas _ ?”

The emphasis on his name was clear. But that proved nothing. She could not know-

“Solas the  _ elvhen _ apostate. Some names are older than thought, aye?” 

“Ah.” He schooled his features in an unreadable mask even though his mind reeled at the implications. She knew he was not as the other ‘elves’ or of this broken world. How? Did the Avvar know more of how the world was than the other mortal shades that inhabited it? Did his teaching through Tyrdda survive when all else had faded? 

She studied him sharply before stepping back and looking away. “There will be singing. After, I will be sure Lugh allows you to speak with Raj.” And with those… unsettling words, she turned and walked away. He watched her go. 

He had not spoken of his plans to speak to Raj’Sileal, yet she knew. The Avvar thought her to be Tyrdda reborn and… she had once gone by another name. And she knew that he was an ancient elf. She had knowledge, knowledge that no mortal should have. She had expected him to find out about her supposed other name. 

The sound of singing started, quickly caught up by other voices until the entirety of the camp… no, not the entirety. The Avvar did not sing. They watched with amusement as the ‘Lowlanders’ sang. Raj’Sileal watched with the same slightly contemptuous amusement as they sang around her to a god she did not follow. Aria moved to her brother, ever present at Raj’Sileal’s elbow and touched his arm. He bent and she whispered in his ear, and his eyes unerringly settled on Solas. The man nodded and Aria patted his shoulder before slipping into the singing crowd. Singing, as she had predicted. 

Theodora. Tyrdda.

Sky Touched.

Who was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Life is kicking my butt, but here is another chapter! -A&F


	19. Chapter 19

Cullen was exhausted. Relieved. Angry. Grieving. So many emotions weighing on him he felt as if he might snap at the next person to bring a report. Haven was lost. The templars… the templars were gone. Corrupted. 

They were…

He would think on that later.

Right now he had hundreds of people to find shelter for. The Avvar had supplies and temporary shelters…

The Avvar had found the Herald. Had brought her back from certain death. He had gone out with them, had been with them as they struggled through the blizzard in search of the impossible, following the Sky Touched as she grimly forged ahead.

Aria had brought her back.

Aria had prepared, made sure there were escape routes, that there were supplies. Aria had gathered her people and had protected the non combatants. Aria…

“Commander.” Josephine’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He did not even have the chance to grant her permission to enter before she slipped into the shelter the Avvar had constructed for him while he had been out searching. His things from his cabin were there, neatly laid out. He had found the pack in here when it was shown to him. Had opened it and found everything. The book Aria had given him. The sketches of the knives he was going to have made for her. His clothes and notes... They had gathered his things.

The Ambassador’s eyes roamed across his exposed belongings and her mouth twisted in a sympathetic expression. She began to speak, but he held up a hand, knowing what she was going to ask of him.

“I… can’t. Not right now.” 

“It is… vital, Commander. We are completely at their mercy.” She pointed out with all of the care of a noble certain they were in the right. Which was none. To her, feelings did not matter if an alliance was on the line. It shouldn’t to him either… it shouldn’t. 

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of another headache. The kind that left him nauseas and flinching from bright light. His body ached from the struggle of fighting through the red templars and then the blizzard. What was it that Lugh said? Steel and ice were two sides of the same bite? “I am aware. Our losses were… minimal.” 

“Because of Aria Sky Touched.” The Ambassador said bluntly. “Because she fancies you. You  _ must _ keep her interest.” 

It felt… it felt like a collar being placed on him. He  _ knew _ what they expected of him. Of his obligation to the Inquisition. And yet hearing it stated so close to outright was… He wanted to hit something. “Maker knows why.” He spat instead. He had not been able to prevent any of this. He had not been able to protect anyone. All of the things he had done, had allowed to happen. All of his sins. He repeated, softer. “Maker knows why.” If he had not left the order when he had… he might have been one of those corrupted… things. He let out a breath, resigned. “I will speak to her.” 

The ambassador gave him a sympathetic look and then smiled weakly. “At least she isn’t Orlesian.” 

The attempt at comfort was worse than if she had simply accepted he was doing as he must. A farce. As if she actually cared. As if she had not just thrown at him the fact that she would have arranged a forced match with some insufferable Orlesian if they had paid enough for him. To her, he should probably feel  _ flattered _ that his price was an entire self sufficient army. He grit his teeth. “Excuse me.” He pushed past her and out into the cold. The snow and wind were just as bitter as they had been while searching for the Herald. He saw Lugh the Patient leaning against a tree and speaking to a group of Avvar Warriors. After a moment, he saw that the Herald was also with him, almost hidden by the bulk of the barbarians. They had clustered around her and he realized she was speaking with them. 

Cullen made his way towards them, and one of the warriors marked his approach and greeted him with a smile. “Godendwlid the Clever! Come join us! The Healer has knowledge of a place to set your new hold!” 

The Clever? Was that… a legend mark? The Herald gave him a tired smile as he drew closer.

“It seems both you and Torg have earned their legend marks tonight. Godendwlid the Clever and Torg the Steadfast.” She said.

“And you, Raj’Sileal the Lady’s Healer. Three legend marks. The gods have smiled on us.” One of the warriors said, reaching out to grip her shoulder and shake her in a friendly gesture that almost knocked her from her feet. The same gesture was repeated on him, and Cullen kept his footing. Physically. Mentally, he was reeling. A legend mark? Him?

“A new hold?” He asked instead. That was more important than them granting him status among their people. A place for the Inquisition?

Raj’Sileal nodded. “To the north. An abandoned fortress. Thane Hesfi here,” She gestured to a broad shouldered Avvar Woman with scars across her face. “Says she knows of a hunting path that leads in that direction.” 

“Aye. I have hunted it many a time with the Sky Touched when she was small.” The Thane said, once again bringing the subject back to the woman, to all that she was giving the Inquisition. “It will take us near to the old stones The Healer spake of.” She frowned up at the sky. “Three days?”

“Nay. Five. Lowlanders travel slower nearer to the Lady.” Lugh disagreed. “Their blood be too thin to carry the air.” 

“Bah.” Another warrior clapped Cullen on the shoulder again. “Five it be for now, but their blood will thicken if they settle in the old stones.” 

The Herald laughed, still weary, but determined and hopeful. “You will make mountain people of us yet, Tyrggen.” 

“We will try!” The man laughed, then gripped his shoulder and shook him slightly. “Aye, tell your men we set out in the morn. Rest. The gods favor the Healer.” 

Cullen blinked as the man left, and then looked at the Herald. She gave him a wan smile. “We have a place to go. A place with thick walls. The Inquisition lives.”

He saluted, at a loss as to what else to do, then went and relayed the Avvar’s words to his men. They had a place to go. They would be leaving in the morning. Rest. 

He found Aria near the shelter they had made for him. She looked exhausted, drained. So much of this was her doing. So much responsibility… how old was she? In the dim star light, her face pale from the cold, she looked… very young. He moved towards her, shoving the responsibility and the Ambassador’s demands to the back of his mind. She was tired. She had almost lost her brother tonight.

“Are you well?” He asked, then cursed the foolish question.

She blinked at him and then rubbed her eyes. “Aye. We survived. You need to rest, Godendwlid the Clever. It is a harsh journey ahead.” 

“Why have they named me that?” He asked instead of agreeing.

“You proved your wit with the chess competition, and then you brought down the mountains on our enemies, as Imhar the Clever did.” She exhaled slowly, exhaustion showing in the line of her shoulders. “Though I believe you have earned two legend marks, pretty and clever.” 

Ah. yes. That. “You need to rest as well.” He blurted out. 

She lowered her hand from her face and looked at him blankly before nodding. “Aye. I…” She trailed off and he recognized that expression. The one he had seen in his own shaving mirror too often. The one where he was too tired to think, but did not want to face his bed alone.

“You can stay with me.” Again he cursed his fumbling. “If you wish. It is… after a battle, I mean… it is better to not be alone after a battle.” Then he cursed himself again because of course she would not be alone, she shared with her brother and the Herald.

Aria looked at him for a long moment before turning her head and looking away. He followed her line of view to see her brother supporting the Herald as they made their way to one of the shelters. She exhaled again and when he looked at her there was a shadow of a fond smile on her mouth.

“Aye. I will accept. Seems best to let them have their time. Much will be demanded of her.”

Of them all. He gestured for her to enter the shelter and she ducked in, pausing slightly at the sight of his things laid out. 

“Did I forget aught?” She asked as she started laying her weapons aside.

She-? Of course she had been the one to preserve his belongings. “No. it… is all there.” He paused and then added an uncertain, “Thank you?”

She waved her hand dismissively and added a knife to the growing stack of weapons. There was her bow, three knives, and an axe so far. “It was an invasion on my part.” She bent and pulled another knife from her boot. 

“Still. I… am glad it is not lost.” A paltry thing, his books and papers, compared to the loss of Haven, but he was glad he still had them. 

“I could not sit with the thought of preserving my own things and leaving your own.” She sighed and started working out of her furred armor. He forced himself not to react, but the heat on his neck told him no matter how blank he kept his face his reaction would always be noticeable. 

“I warned who I could to take their things, but not many lowlanders are willing to listen to us.” She tossed her gauntlets onto the pile of weapons. 

“How… did you know?” He asked, forcing his mind to focus on the tactical subject rather than her removing her coverings in his space. 

She gave him a tired glance and sat on the makeshift bed to pull off her boots. “The birds were uneasy and some of your scouts went missing. I saw deer and rams travelling from the mountain paths and past Haven, an omen from the gods, if you ask my brother.”

It sounded… ridiculous, to have gone to such lengths to prepare over some birds and a deer. She was right, they would not have listened. He finally made himself move to start removing his own armor. The steel was too cold to sleep in. ( _ You must keep her interest. _ ) “I… am glad you did not leave us to our own foolishness.” 

She laughed, a short, quiet, exhausted laugh. “I could not leave the pretty and clever commander to the corrupted, could I?” She laid back across the bed and covered her face with her arm.

And there it was. He set aside his breastplate and before he could lose his resolve, leaned over her and brushed a kiss to her lips. Her breath stilled in her chest, her arm moved away from her eyes slowly and she stared at him, wide eyed. He pulled back, uncertain if he had overstepped, of what was expected, but she caught his shirt and held him still.

“What is my name?” She asked, studying his face intently.

“Aria. Though your brother calls you Sky.” He answered, confused at the question. Did she think he would forget? How could he? 

Her eyes roamed over his face for another moment before she pulled him closer by his shirt and pressed a dry kiss to his cheek. “Aye. My thanks.” She let him go and rolled onto her side with her back to him, an obvious show of trust as well as an indication she did not wish for more. “Rest, Godendwlid the Clever.”

He could not name the emotions racking him as he slid into the bed beside her, careful to leave space between them, uncertain if he were relieved or disappointed that she did not want more.

They laid there for several moments before she reached back and grabbed his arm, dragging it over her side, and pulling him closer. “Tis too cold to be modest.” She mumbled, and he thought he saw a blush on the exposed skin of her neck that her hair failed to cover. It was… comforting to know she felt… flustered. 

He exhaled in agreement and pulled the blanket over both of them.

This… was not so bad. 

He had some difficulty falling to sleep, the tensions of the day and the looming headache making it difficult to relax. Though when he finally had started to drift, he felt her hand gently rubbing small circles over his hand at her waist in a gentle comfort. 

  
  
  
  


Vivienne knew useful allies when she saw them.

The barbarians… were more than useful. They were rough and course and uncivilized, but they knew how to fight and they were clearly at home here in the frigid mountains. They were more than useful, they were… necessary. 

Though most avoided her, a few had offered her furs with concerned glances down at her waist. Apparently she was concerningly thin to them. At first she had declined, simply using her magic to keep warm instead of bearing the smelly furs… but by the second morning of their march through the mountains she found that she simply… could not sustain that magical expenditure. When the barbarian who fancied the tevinter altus offered her a fur that morning, she succumbed to the indignity and allowed him to wrap her in it. It was warm. And surprisingly smelled clean save for the slight smell of the fires they burned at night. 

The only people who seemed unaffected by the cold were that elf apostate and the qunari brute. The rest of them suffered being wrapped in furs and blankets and trudging through the air with aching lungs. The Herald was practically swallowed by the furs that her barbarian fling wrapped her in, a knitted hat pulled down over her ears and a scarf wrapped around her face. Hardly the picture of dignity, but yet… there was a sense of realism as they followed the slight thing through the harsh pathways, drawing steadily closer to safety. She was the Herald, and yet that silly hat made her somehow touchable, real. Vivienne often caught herself watching for a glimpse of that crude hat to give herself that bit of courage to take the next step. 

The Commander… was nearly unrecognizable after the third day of travel. He wore furs that matched the barbarians, his face was unshaven, he moved with less difficulty than most of them, blending easily into the barbarians ranks if you were not well acquainted with him. Vivienne might put money on him having Avvar blood if a discreet bet were made. She watched him be quickly absorbed into the barbarian horde, drawn in by the ‘Sky Touched’s fancy. It was a waste of a pretty face, in her opinion, he could do very well in Orlais with that hair and build, but yet… She could see the Ambassador’s reasoning in allowing and pushing for the match. They were indeed… completely reliant on the barbarian’s efforts. Not even Vivienne’s allies could have gotten them through these mountains so easily. 

The woman, though crude, had proven her standing and influence among the Barbarians. She was somewhat of a princess if the ambassador was to be believed. Vivienne knew the story would benefit if spun correctly. Nobles from every country would eat up a story of the brave commander winning the barbarian princesses’ heart with his courage and strength.

Hmm. Yes. She might speak with the dwarf on how to elaborate that story. He had been seen coming from her cabin twice, had been caught being pushed into bed by the woman in his own tent, perhaps something about a torrid affair… maybe capitalize on the exoticism of ‘taming’ a barbarian woman. Yes. That would do nicely. 

Though it did look as though she were doing most of the taming… all the Commander needed was an axe at his belt instead of a sword and he would be indistinguishable from the barbarians-

Oh look. Someone had given him an axe. The image was complete.

Perhaps a story more along the lines of the savage barbarian princess being captivated with his skill and looks and taking him to her bed, where he then managed to win her heart (and resources)... They did call him The Clever.

The planning occupied most of the dreadful trip. She… was not approving of the Herald’s… dalliance with the barbarian warrior. Useful in the short term but political suicide in the long term. There was too much on the line and she intended to advise the ambassador and the spymaster to warn the girl away from the brute. The ambassador to suggest reason, and the Spymaster in hopes the woman might find a way to sabotage the budding relationship should the girl not listen to reason. 

She did manage to speak quietly to the Ambassador on the subject, but the Ambassador had given her a weary sigh. “She’s  _ Dalish _ , Madame. I have enough trouble getting her to hold a tea cup properly, let alone think politically about matches.” The Ambassador rubbed her eyes with her mittened fingers in a poor show of weakness, though she guessed given recent events it was understandable and easily forgiven. “They’re well suited and he comes with an army.” She muttered as if in comfort to herself.

“Besides this, no noble of any standing that would be more beneficial to us than the Avvar would want to marry a dalish elf, no matter her title.” The spymaster said, practically materializing beside her. The woman was good. 

“It’s the allure of the exotic.” Vivienne flicked her hand dismissively, though the elegant gesture was marred by the thick gloves. “They don’t want to marry her, they want to fantasize.” She sighed. “But I see your point. I will see about spinning it to our benefit if we must.”

Leliana looked ahead to the Herald pointing the way, the silent barbarian hulking over her shoulder protectively. “We must.” After a pause, she added. “He is a prince in a way, and was immediately taken in by her courage.” 

_ That _ she could work with. 

The Herald of Andraste attracting the loyalty of the barbarian prince with her courage and righteous purpose, gathering the barbarian peoples to the Maker’s will, much like Andraste had herself. The strong and beautiful Commander, taken to the barbarian princesses’ bed and then winning her heart with his cleverness… Yes. the nobles would eat it up, a story of scandalous savagery and exotic romance, with just the right twist of religious devotion. She brought the story to Varric in hopes of his professional aid when they had to stop early one day because of the villagers’ fatigue. 

Varric looked at her incredulously, then looked over at a group of avvar participating in some sort of brutal game of strength. Aria Sky Touched bodily threw another warrior and Varric winced and shook his head. “I like my head where it is. But I would  _ love _ to see this play out. Here’s a publisher’s name if you decide to go with that. But really, Iron Lady, this story does  _ not _ need exaggeration. I’m quite put out about it, exaggeration is half of my personality.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Lugh knew the Lowlanders were plotting. The gods were clustering thick and fascinated in the Dreaming, patrons of stories and mischief and hope. He did not care much for their plotting beyond how it affected Raj. She led them through the mountains, her breath quick and harsh in the thin air, but determined that she was not the first to stop despite her weariness. And then when they did stop, she would meet with her council and with the lowlander nobles that demanded her attention. He began to accompany her on those meetings, watching carefully and taking mental note. He quickly realized the lowlander nobles thought him… as fascinating as an oddly pelted bear, to be looked at and fled from. 

On impulse, when he noted that Raj was growing irritated and weary, he had put his hand on Raj’s shoulder and lowered his voice like he had seen the lowlanders do when mocking his people, so that it seemed close to a growl. “Come. You must eat. You must keep your strength.”

The lowlander noble had looked both shocked and delighted as Raj had quickly made some polite noises of farewell and let him guide her away. Once they were beyond the lowlander’s length of sight, Raj let out a giggle and hugged him. “Oh, did you see his face?! The barbarian stealing away the Dalish savage to care for her.” She said in a mockingly breathy voice, flapping her hand near her face as if to fan it. 

“They do seem to enjoy creating stories of fancy rather than seeing what is truly before them.” Lugh grumbled. He did not like that they looked down on Raj for her ears and her marks of pride. “They have little sense.” 

“They really, really do.” She sighed and let him guide her to his fire to eat. “When all of this is over, I think I’m going to run away and join your hold. I wager I could get Keeper Deshanna to bring the clan.” 

Lugh felt his heart start racing at the thought of her in his hold, happy and free with her clan and his people. He realized he was staring at her with a foolish grin and flushed, shoving the bowl of food towards her. “I… would like that.” 

Raj was kind enough to not tease him for his fumbling and instead took food into her mouth, chewing it to the side as she spoke thoughtfully. “Actually… I might go ahead and ask her to go to the mountains. You Avvar seem to tolerate us better than the Lowlanders do. I’d feel better knowing they were safer near you mountain lot rather than the low shems while we’re dealing with this whole mess.”

Lugh felt himself still grinning as he pretended to busy himself with the fire. “Aye. I will send word to my mother to keep watch for your clan.” 

Raj grinned and it took on that of a wistful smile as she looked down at her food. “You know I used to think humans were all terrible. Oppressive, but your people… they do not look at me like I’m less for my ears.”

Lugh shrugged. “We have better sense. You have beautiful ears, same as my sister has red hair. People come in many shapes.” He paused, realizing he had called her beautiful, and quickly added. “And you elves seem to have better sense than most Lowlanders we have dealt with.” 

Raj smiled at him, full and happy. “I will write my Keeper. Perhaps she will listen.”

“I can send one of our people with the message.” Lugh offered. “I wager they would have better manners than any of the Lowlanders that Godendwlid would send.” He could also send a peace gift with them on behalf of Stone Bear Hold. If her clan was like her, they were excellent hunters and fierce warriors. If a truce could be struck, it could only benefit both peoples. 

“Thank you. Once we reach this ‘SkyHold’ perhaps.” She said and leaned against his arm wearily. “We should make it by tomorrow.” 

“Aye.” Lugh smiled at her slight weight against his side. He enjoyed her easy trust that he would support her. 

Raj yawned and then in an absent tone. “Aria is sleeping with Cullen.”

“Aye.” The two were odd with each other. The attraction was there, but they both made it… more complicated than it seemed it ought to be. Aria liked the Commander, tried to care for him, but feared being claimed for her past name, but the Commander knew naught of that matter. The Commander seemed to like Aria, but also feared her, wavering between showing affection and withdrawing. It was odd. “They dance like sparring birds about each other.” 

She laughed sleepily. “Aye, but they compliment each other.”

Lugh glanced up as Aria walked by. “Aye, they will make beautiful children.” 

Aria froze and glared at him, then flushed and hurried off. Lugh chuckled and picked Raj up. “Come, let us get you abed.” 

“That sounds amazing.” Raj hummed sleepily and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re warm.”

He held her a bit closer and took her to rest. She…

He would very much like it if he could bring her to his hold to keep her warm and fed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from C_L : Sorry I haven’t been posting for a bit on Masks. Life has been crazy and exhausting the last month. My husband tested positive for Covid and it hit him pretty hard. Between caring for him and the kids I was exhausted to the point I could barely concentrate to write. Then we on the Gulf coast were hit by hurricane Sally, we lost about ⅓ of our roof to high winds and had water damage. Everything is repaired now and things are getting back to normal, so updates soon hopefully. <3 take care and stay safe.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up! It's a big'un! -C_L
> 
> I've been out of work for a couple of days for my mom's cancer surgery so I've had some extra writing time on my hands *exhausted sigh* -A&F

It was things such as this that lent them their trust in Aria Sky Touched. She prevented plagues and infections as a child, shared knowledge beyond her ken, and now… Once again she showed her favor with the gods. 

SkyWatcher examined the rubbled area inside the walls of the Sky Hold. It was in need of repair, but it would serve the Healer’s people well. In truth, this was not the first time he had seen these walls, only the first time inside of them. The spirits had warned them away before when they had drawn near, but he felt no such warning now. The gods lingered in this place, searching for something ancient and powerful that had awoken and left. Something had slumbered within these walls, and then it had woken. It did not carry the malice that the one who had wounded the Lady bore. No, but something had awoken and had left it for them to find, and with its absence, the warnings were gone.

‘Sky hold.’ Aptly named. They were near enough to the Lady’s Skin to feel it. The Lowlanders struggled to breathe, their blood too weak, but they would adapt. 

The elf with the old eyes was looking at the walls with a distant expression, leaning on his staff with an air of someone remembering. The Sky Touched had been avoiding him, turning in her path to stay away from him and his baited words. Something had transpired between them that had broken their fragile peace, and all sensed it. The Avvar peoples had begun to notice and watched the old elf carefully. He seemed peaceable enough, but ‘twas bet to be cautious with ones with eyes older than their form.

Ah, but the Commander. Cullen the Clever, their people had named him, embracing him as was their custom. For him she seemed to slowly step out of her customary wariness of growing attached to aught besides her brother. They shared a bed for warmth and ate together with the Healer and her friends. Aria would give him her tinctures and salves for his pains, fretting over him with orders and shouts, as was her way. They were growing closer, sometimes sitting in silence on their infrequent rests, sometimes facing a task shoulder to shoulder. They were a good fit when they did not stumble over their uncertainty.

The Lowlanders seemed to be in awe of the pair, and the Avvar as a whole felt it was a good match, admiring that The Pretty and Clever had managed to catch the Sky Touched’s eye.

But here they were. Sky Hold, with Thane Raj’Sileal the Lady’s Healer. A bit of a mouthful, that. 

As if that were not name enough, the Lowlanders named her their ‘Inquisitor’, akin to a legendmark, and the first ‘title’ that had a lick of sense to it, one earned rather than born. It was foolish to trust a leader simply because they were born to a leader. Even Aria Sky Touched had had to earn the respect given to her. Lowlanders were often foolish. 

Though they had made it to a safe hold, The Lady’s Healer did not rest as the lowlanders did. Nay, she threw herself into tasks of repairs to the hold with a tenacity not oft’ found in one so small. If the Patient had not shown interest, he knew many in their ranks who would have liked to catch her attention. As it were, none dared face The Patient. While slow to wrath, he was a formidable foe. The Healer had found herself a fierce protector, and her eyes followed him with the same softness that his did her. Another good match. 

Over the following days, Aria Sky Touched worked with the Commander and began sending groups of their people out to deal with different threats, gaining the fickle aid of the Lowlander rulers while also helping people. There were corrupted gods to release back to the Dreaming, bandits to put down, maddened animals to give peace to, displaced Lowlanders to protect. The Lowlander forces were set out on the tasks that apparently required a ‘delicate’ touch such as negotiating arguments between rulers. The SkyWatcher was glad to not trouble his people with the matter. The Lowlanders were ridiculous about such things. 

Nay, he much preferred Lugh’s request to carry a message from the Lady’s Healer to her people, and a message from his Thane to hers. He travelled for a short time with some of the Lowlander’s people, guiding them out of the mountains until they could find their own way, then set off alone for the Healer’s clan. At nights, he sometimes sensed a great wolf lurking about his dreams, and with The Healer’s gods in mind, he made sure he left offerings of meat when he woke. It did no harm to be respectful. 

He was preparing such an offering near one of the carved statues of a wolf when he sensed he was being watched. He finished preparing the meat before turning to greet his observers. It was a trio of elves with their pride marks stark on their faces, their bows drawn and pointed at him.

“What are you doing, shem?” The one nearest to him spoke harshly. His eyes wary and searching for intent. 

“It seems wise to be respectful.” He answered, spreading his hands away from his body, and knife. 

“And what do you know of him?” Another scoffed.

“I believe Raj’Sileal said he was called Fen’Harel.” As expected, at the name of their clansman the elves’ eyes widened then narrowed. 

“You know Raj’Sileal?”

“Aye, I was sent on her behalf in search of her Keeper and Clan. There is a message from her.” There was trouble afoot. They were wary and gaunt. Best not to startle them, fear made for twitching bow strings. “In my pack.” He nodded towards it instead of moving. 

There was a wary pause before the speaker said something in their tongue and the archer in the back lowered his bow and moved to open his pack, digging through until he found the wooden box written on in Raj’Sileal’s own hand. “It’s her writing.” 

The three spoke quickly in their language before the seeming leader nodded. “Lay down your weapons. We would take you to our Keeper.” 

The SkyWatcher complied, taking even his hunting knife and laying them with his maul before stepping away. The gods whispered they meant no harm, they were just so frightened, and he was not without means of protection. 

They led him to their clan and Amund found himself fascinated with the wagons they used. He had yet to see one so close and he committed as many details as he could to memory from just looking at them. Lugh would have many questions. They took him before a woman with a lined face, also writ with their pride marks. Her fingers were tight about a staff as she looked up at him. He felt it best he sit on the ground so he was not towering over her so. She looked startled when he did.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a commanding tone, but the voice fit her face.

“I am making it easier for you to speak with me. Raj’Sileal claims it gives her an ache in her neck to look up at me when we speak.” Again, her eyes widened and then narrowed at The Healer’s name. 

“You say she speaks with you? Why? The last we heard of her, the shems had taken her after the Breach.”

“She leads the lowland shems now, and some of my own people. I was sent by her and by one of my own people’s great warriors to bring a message to Clan Lavellan.” 

The Keeper’s eyes studied him, no doubt looking for an untruth. “Who are you?”

“I am Amund SkyWatcher of Edvarr Hold.”

“Avvar?” Her eyes and posture stayed wary. What injustices had they suffered for them to be so wary of a lone traveler?

“Aye. We normally do not trouble ourselves with Lowlander matters, but our wisest said that it is best to follow Raj’Sileal, and so we do. She has proven to be most courageous.” 

The elder arched her eyebrows disbelievingly, “You would follow a rabbit? A knife ear savage?”

Ah, that. “And I am but a barbarian mountain brute who’s mother laid with a bear.” He said with a pointed shrug. “The Lowlanders have… odd beliefs. Raj’Sileal is a warrior, a leader that many of my kin would be proud to claim. She may be short, but she is no less fierce for it.” 

The Keeper seemed… taken back by his words. So much so she did not speak until the warriors did.

“We found him leaving meat at Fen’Harel’s statue, Keeper.” One of the elves who had brought him in said as they held out the wooden box. “He knew his name, and had this in his pack.” 

The Keeper took the box and examined it before prying it open. She took the Healer’s letter from the top and began to read quickly. She reached the end and then went back to the beginning and read again. “Sweet Sylaise, he speaks true. She really does lead the shems…” 

There was a murmur among those gathered. A small voice asking their parent what they meant drew his gaze. The child was small, too small and slight, thin as The Healer had been in the beginning. This would be a good thing for her kin. Their people would thrive if-

“What are these?” The Keeper’s voice drew his attention back to the box. 

“May I stand?” He asked, and at her nod, slowly moved to the box. A glance within it made him smile. The boy had done well. He took the carving with Thane Sun Hair’s symbol on it and held it out to the Keeper. “An offering of a truce between Hold Stone Bear and Clan Lavellan. The Thane’s mark. Thane Svarah Sun Hair.” 

She took the mark with a startled blink.

He took out the jar of healing salve and the cleansing potion and offered it to her. “Hold Stone Bear sends items of healing, that your peoples may be hale together.”

There was a shocked murmur, from those around them. 

“A knife for hunting so that your peoples may find plenty together.”

“Clay for war paints, that your peoples may aid each other in their battles, and ale and spices so that your peoples may join each other in joys as well as strife.”

He pulled out the blanket, a brightly woven thing with a bear on a mountain. “And a blanket so that your peoples may find respite in your holds.” 

She took the blanket from his hands delicately. “You say ‘your peoples’. Do you not count yourself?”

“I am of Edvarr Hold, not Stone Bear. I carry their message for them, but Thane Sun Hair could not offer a truce for my hold any more than you could for another clan.” He paused and then added, keeping in mind the lowlander ignorance of Avvar matters. “But Edvarr Hold and Stone Bear Hold have a long lasting truce. My hold’s allies are Stone Bear’s allies, and theirs are ours, and their enemies are our enemies, and ours are theirs.” 

Traditionally, such truces might be sealed with a marriage, but if Raj’Sileal and Lugh kept as they were, it would not have to be so arranged. 

The Keeper’s fingers traced the bear woven into the blanket and she took a shaking breath before waving her hand at the warriors who still stood at his shoulders. They immediately set aside their weapons at her order and she gave him a still wary but curious look. “Would you join us for our meal, Skywatcher? It seems we have much to discuss.” 

  
  
  
  


Bjorn Leifsen had known his children would be great. Raising Aria and Lugh had not been easy because of their potential for greatness. So when he heard they were gathering the Avvar peoples to help the Lady’s Healer, it did not surprise him. When he saw that the sky had indeed been healed, and heard that they were helping the Lady’s Healer set up a hold, Sky Hold, it did not surprise him. He knew that the thing Aria had oft hinted of was coming to pass.

Great things were afoot, and his own fledgling hold was full of young warriors itching for fights and wives. They would start a war with their impatience if he did not find aught for them to do. It seemed a truce should be struck between Sky Hold and  Wind Stand Hold. Sky Hold had many battles and enemies, perhaps his hot blooded whelps could find their marks without bringing war onto his hold. So he had gathered up his most restless warriors, left their Auger in charge, and set out for Sky Hold.

It was an interesting journey. Sometimes they passed tears in the Lady and would stop to release the corrupted gods back to the Dreaming before moving on, marking the place for the Healer to visit when she could. They passed many avvar from many different holds, accompanying ‘Inquisition’ lowlanders, which were the lowlanders that followed the Lady’s Healer. She was a fierce leader, had healed the skies, was lethal in a fight, a fair leader who had survived a dragon and the mountains being brought down upon her. And had caught the eye of one Lugh the Patient. 

It was shocking news, Lugh had been adamant he would not marry until their future was settled. A claim that had much to do with Aria and their destiny. But Lugh was apparently infatuated with the great leader!

Which led to the second bite of shocking news.

Aria Sky Touched had claimed the Lady’s Healer’s chief warrior: Godendwlid The Clever. Though there was some confusion whether his name was truly Godendwlid or Cullen. That was a matter he cared little for, however.

Aria, his little Aria fancied someone! This was something he never even hoped would happen! She fancied someone enough to paint them! Perhaps even a wedding? He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face at the thought of her claiming a husband and… children? Grandchildren? Could he perhaps have grandchildren? It was a dream he had half accepted would never be, but now?

He would have to see the truth of the matter. It sounded more outlandish for Aria to have fallen for someone than for her to have helped heal the sky. 

But the hope that there might be some truth to the rumors kept him in a bright mood to the gates of Sky Hold. He was greeted by the Lowlander warriors, armed and wary, but could not help a grin as he shouted. “Hail, I am Thane Bjorn Leifsen of Wind Stand  Hold! I seek my daughter and son, Aria Sky Touched and Lugh The Patient.” 

One of the lowlanders, a slight thing that looked as if he needed many more meals, took off into Sky Hold’s walls. There was a long wait, and then a cry went up. “Father!”

Aria! She came dashing from the gates, the Lowlanders scattering before her, and she leaped at him. He caught her easily and spun her in a circle in a hug as he had when she was small. She did not seem as delicate with the lowlanders present. “Aria! How fare you?”

He set her down and was just as quickly grabbed in a hug from Lugh that nearly knocked him from his feet. “Father! What are you doing here?” 

“I be a thane now.” Bjorn announced with a grin. “I started my own hold in the northern mountains when the knots released me. It seems fitting I petition for a truce with the Sky Hold, is it not?” 

Lugh let him go and turned to a group of lowlanders. One strikingly beautiful but delicate lowlander was clutching a board and staring with wide eyes, while another, a slight, delicate thing with pointed ears was smiling broadly. The gilt lowlander suddenly reached out and grabbed the shoulder of a warrior wearing a red lions mane and pushed him forward. It took a glance at the warriors metal armor to confirm he was a lowlander rather than Avvar.

Lugh bounced on his toes like he did when he was excited. “Godendwlid! Raj, come meet my father!” 

The warrior looked… half panicked, but the smallest lowlander simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward. She looked up at him and stuck her hand out in greeting. “Well met! I am Raj’Sileal, uh, Thane of Sky Hold.” 

Odd. He had thought Sky Hold was named for Sky Touched, but no matter. He clasped her hand gently, afraid he might break it. She was so small! “Well met. Bjorn, Thane of Wind Stand Hold.” 

“I am so happy to meet you! Lugh hasn’t spoken much about you so I’m really curious.” She said brightly. 

“Aye, he prefers to speak of knowledge than kin.” Bjorn laughed. Then tilted his head with a sudden worry as she pulled her delicate hand from his. “Are you the one they call the Lady’s Healer?”

She nodded and wiggled her hand, which was glowing with magic. Ah. He looked at his son, who was built as an Avvar warrior, sturdy and broad, and then back to the Lady’s Healer, who… was eyes to his chest… That… His children would kill her! He looked at Lugh and spoke in their mother tongue. “Your mother talked to you of the teas?” 

Lugh’s eyes widened and he flushed red. “Father! Of course she did. And Aria.” 

Aria was cackling as she gasped out between bursts of laughter. “I told you!”

Lugh’s flush deepened and then he narrowed his eyes and switched to the lowlander tongue. “Have you met Godendwlid the Clever?” He gestured to the panicked warrior, who shook his head slightly at his name, then winced and held out his hand in greeting. 

“I. ah. My name is actually Cullen… um, Rutherford.” The warrior stumbled over his words. “I command the Inquisitor’s forces.”

“Aye. I named him Godendwlid.” Aria said and reached out and ruffled her fingers through his curls, making the man blush prettily. He did not pull away from her attentive hand, though he looked mortified. 

“Tis fitting.” Bjorn agreed with a delighted grin. She truly did fancy someone! A chief warrior! “I have heard tell that my daughter has laid paint on you already.” 

“Father!” Aria hissed, her face flushing and she yanked her hand back from the boy’s hair, but did not deny it. The boy in question looked like he did not know what to do.

“Aye, she did.” Lugh said solemnly. 

He grinned in unashamed glee. She had painted him! Had shown him favor and marked him as one she was willing to let claim her! “Aye! I am glad to hear of it!” He wrapped his daughter into a crushing hug that had her giggling despite the glare she had sent her brother. 

There was a quiet ‘oh dear’ from the gilt Lowlander. 

He ignored her for a moment longer in favor of looking down at the slight lowlander, Raj’Sileal, and asking. “Have you laid paint on my son?”

She flushed but smiled. “Not yet.” 

Lugh let out a noise in the back of his throat and looked delightedly shocked. Ah. As smart as his son was he was still an idiot at times. Though he comes by it honestly if Svarrah was to be believed. And she was rarely wrong. 

He clapped his son’s shoulder with his other arm, while squeezing his daughter with the other and smiled, this was a joyous occasion. His children! “We feast tonight! So much I wish to hear and know.” He let go of Lugh’s shoulder to clap this ‘Godendwlid’ on the shoulder. “Any man with the courage to steal my daughter is a man worth knowing!” 

The warrior blushed and looked over at his daughter with a panicked expression, his daughter who was looking at him in shock… Ah, they must not have realized he would know of their match. “Do not worry so, Godendwlid. At times such as these traditions can be stretched a bit.”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck. “I… the thane? I haven’t-?”

Aria let out a strangled, shocked noise. “Alright! Feast! No more talk? Yes?” He had never seen her so frustrated over a boy, this was a good omen for them. 

It was Lugh’s turn to burst into laughter at his sister's expense. 

Ah, he had missed his children.

  
  
  
  


Cullen felt as if he was trapped. In many ways. He was sat down next to Aria’s father, a bear of a man, an older, bearded version of Lugh with a boisterous laugh as his people set about setting into motion a feast that must have been planned ahead of time with how quickly it was forming. Thane Bjorn had brought warriors to aid the Inquisition, or ‘Sky Hold’, as he called it, and to see his children. 

And his childrens’ ‘claimed’. Him… Maker, he was ‘claimed’.

The other avvar greeted them with open arms while his soldiers looked on with an overwhelmed air. There were… so many of them now. Even with how many of the Avvar that had set out in aid of the Inquisition, there were still more. Thane Bjorn had brought a small army with him and the Ambassador had given him a very pointed glance before she had disappeared. Right, the alliance. 

As with all Avvar celebrations, there were games, feats of skill. He was not pushed to participate this time however, though it would have been a relief to get away from the man… Aria’s father. The mere weight of the knowledge of who he was and the significance that he was here was enough to make Cullens stomach turn in anxiety. 

There was the… madness of the fact that he was… expected to  _ steal _ this man’s daughter and he half expected the man to wish to kill him for it. He would if someone was thought to be willing to kidnap his sister… but the Thane seemed… delighted. Overjoyed. Maker’s breath, he fussed more than any mother he had seen on a bridal day. 

A drink was shoved into his hand and he drained it, half hoping for some relief. 

The bear of a man laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Ah, is that how you find the courage?”

Aria put her face over her hand. “Father. I am offended.” 

“You cannot deny-”

“Yes. I know!” She threw her hands in the air. “Tis a miracle I have not set him afire, I have heard it a dozen times yet.” She stalked off toward the sparring matches and Cullen winced in sympathy for whoever faced her. 

Bjorn just laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder again, making him lose his grip on the tankard with the force of it. Maker’s breath, was he always so…. So much?

Lugh was sitting beside his father with the Herald draped across his back, as she liked to do so she could climb onto his shoulders at a moment’s notice. Both of them were watching with extreme amusement. 

The man seemed delighted with  _ that _ as well. In fact he seemed to love everything about the Inquisitor. Bjorn opened his mouth to say something, but Lugh spoke first. “I wrote to Mother. She is sending a truce gift to Clan Lavellan, Raj’s people.” 

“Ah! You do go about things in the right order.” Bjorn laughed, then said something in the Avvar tongue that had Lugh blushing again. 

The Inquisitor laughed and flicked his ear in a mischievous way. “You must teach me your language.”

“Ma nuvenin.” Lugh said with a pleased smile. 

They seemed so comfortable around each other, as if they actually enjoyed each other's company. Not like Aria, who seemed… shocked at any hint of affection. Maker, he was terrible. She shouldn’t be startled if they were- if he had been… He let them fill his drink again and drained it again.

“So your mother is well?” Bjorn asked, suddenly lowering his tone. Cullen doubted any but those next to them could hear him above the noise.

“Aye. Relieved Aria is no longer terrorizing the warriors.” Lugh shrugged. “I believe she is looking for another husband.”

“Aye. Perhaps she will have an average child this time around.” Bjorn laughed. “If the experience has not frightened her from it completely.”

Wait. “Another husband?” 

“Aye, the knots released us two years back.” Bjorn answered cheerfully. “I have not remarried yet. I asked if she would like to remarry but she said she did not wish to risk another set of children like ours.”

Lugh rolled his eyes. “We were not that terrible.”

Bjorn rolled his eyes in the exact same gesture. “And yet my gray hairs disagree.” He turned back to Cullen with a shrug. “I will always love her, but she has her right to choose when the knots are undone. Our holds have a truce as it is.” 

Cullen felt at a loss… yet more of her culture he did not know. He eyed another drink but shook his head, deciding his head was muddled enough. He would like to retain his memory if he was going to ask. “How do the… knots work?”

Bjorn turned fully towards him with that gleeful grin. “I will tell you! You’ve muddled well enough for a lowlander.”

“Be kind, father. A few more months in the mountains and you will not tell him apart.” Lugh said with amusement. 

That… was a compliment? Was it not? Cullen forced himself to listen to the… enthusiastic thane. 

“Normally, when paint is involved, it is part of a feast, aye? The woman goes to the man of her choice and marks him during the dances so he knows she will come with him willingly. After, the man has his thane speak to hers to gain permission, you would not wish to start a war by stealing a woman without permission.”

Cullen felt a small curl of relief that nothing had yet happened between him and Aria and accidently caused a war with her people. They were far more numerous than he had ever thought and formidable. He nodded, half to himself as much to Bjorn. That… would be bad. 

“After the thanes have come to an agreement, the man would show his prowess by sneaking into the hold and carrying her off without being caught. And then there would be a feast, and during the feast a knotted rope is brought out and the man must untie as many of the knots as he can before the woman has finished singing a hymn to her chosen god, the hymn may be as long or short as she wishes, and however many knots are undone are the number of years they remain wed.” Bjorn shrugged. “Some men have quick hands, and quick hands and a long hymn mean a long marriage. But that is beside the matter. After the knots have been dealt, the man would carry his bride off to claim her.”

“I like that.” The Herald said, her chin resting on top of Lugh’s head. “It’s not too different from the Dalish way, though we tend to marry for life.”

“Life is uncertain and ever changing.” Bjorn shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever. If a couple wish they can always re wed.” He sighed wistfully. “But both must be in accord.” 

Lugh patted his father’s shoulder sympathetically. “I am sorry we ruined your chances at being wed again.”

“Bah-“ Bjorn laughed and shoved his son's shoulder playfully. “You and your sister were trouble, but Svarrah’s will is her own. Perhaps in another life, aye?” 

That was… Cullen didn’t know what to think of their ways. To think that two could marry and raise children only to go their separate ways after… each wishing the other well? It was so foreign in his mind. And yet… the thought that he might not be… selling his entire life away… only a few years? There was another question on his mind, however.

“The others… they said the paint meant I had been… claimed?” He felt himself blush at the question.

Bjorn shrugged again. “Aye, sometimes a warrior is much liked by many, aye? The paint not only tells the man the woman is willing, but also if more than one woman wishes to mark the same man they can challenge each other to a contest and the winner can lay the paint onto him. If Aria painted you, none would dare try to challenge her claim though, even for you.” He laughed as if he had made a hilarious joke, and Lugh laughed with him. 

“She is a bit terrifying.” The Herald said cheerfully.

That… He closed his eyes and tried not to let his mind wander to- no. Josephine had made it clear. He must,  _ he must _ for the good of the Inquisition. This alliance had saved their people thrice over. But could he-?

Aria was returning, he could see her careful stride, she was uncertain about him… not like The Inquisitor and Lugh. Maybe…. if he did what seemed to be expected… but could he? 

“And what poor soul bore the brunt of your frustration, daughter?” Bjorn asked with an amused laugh as she got within ear shot.

“One of your whelps, father.” Aria shot back as she drew closer. “It should not take me long to get them actually fit to see a battle.” 

She moved as if she was going to sit beside him and Cullen made his arms move to catch her wrist and pull her towards him as he had seen Lugh do a dozen times to The Herald. 

She landed in his lap with an ungainly flail and a squeaking sound in her throat, then froze, her hands on his chest as if poised to shove him away. This close he could smell the cleansing potion always on her hands and the herbal soap she used. And he could also see the flush sweep down her neck that mirrored the heat on his own neck. What was he thinking? Her father was right beside him-? 

“Aye!” The man laughed in obvious glee as he grinned at them. “I see now why she fancies ye!” He then nudged Lugh’s arms with a few words in their native tongue that had her brother laughing. 

Aria’s jaw worked and then she turned slightly and leaned her shoulder against his chest. “Now what, Godendwlid?” She murmured under the sound of her family’s laughter.

“I… didn’t think that far ahead.” He admitted in a whisper, slightly distracted by that fact she was remaining in his lap of her own accord. He swallowed and turned his head away from her family so they could not see him speak. “What is expected?” 

“Me to either set you afire or stab you.” she sighed quietly. 

That… “Forgive me.” He had not thought this through.

“Nay, You have-” She paused and her flush deepened. “I simply have a reputation, tis all.” she leaned further against him and he kept himself very still as she tilted her head to her father who had turned his attention to Raj who was speaking to him excitedly about something. “He is happy, I never thought to see such joy after Mother declined his request to remarry.”

“He…” Cullen didn’t know quite how to string his quickly scattering thoughts into a sentence. He was excruciatingly aware of the way she was pressed against him. 

“Is an optimist and wishes for grandchildren.” Aria huffed and shifted in a way that made him have to fight a groan. This had been a terrible idea. “Though I doubt Raj would survive that.” 

Maker! He wanted- he felt his face flush hotter at the thought of what her father expected, at the mental image of her-

Aria shifted slightly in his lap again and then smirked. “Are you thinking of getting me with child? Or is that for my brother?” 

“Maker-“ she was… pressed against him, speaking of- he swallowed and forced himself to breathe through his nose in another attempt to gain control over his body, another terrible idea as her hair smelled of- he closed his eyes.  _ He must… _ “Is that… what you’d wish?”

Aria let out a strangled sound in the back of her throat like she did when he called her ‘darling’. “I-” She made the noise again and then sounded almost pleading. “The war?” 

“The war. Of course.” That was not a no. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Maker! She would be- Someone was passing out drinks and he took it gratefully. Aria took one as well, draining it swiftly. 

She remained in his lap for… Maker, it felt like an eternity before the Avvar called her to rejoin the games and she moved away, first running her fingers through his hair as she liked to do. He had stopped putting the pomade in it for that reason. They called for him as well, but he was… unwilling to stand in his current state. Bjorn and Lugh went, leaving him with the Herald, who was sipping at her drink with a pleased expression. 

“I think he likes us.” She smiled cheerfully.

“I think he is planning both of our weddings.” He said and then rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. That was… unprofessional.

“Oh, definitely.” She laughed, her ears flushed pink, then leveled him with a concerned look. “But are you… alright? You look half terrified.” 

That about summed it up… “He is… her father.” As if this… match was not stressful enough. The man expected him to… Maker, children?! Of course, she needed heirs, but- Children? From him?  _ With _ him?

Raj laughed slightly. “From what I hear, Lugh takes after him more, so it’s the mother to be worried about.” 

Cullen looked at her in panic. “Would she come here as well?” The thought of being faced with  _ both _ of Aria’s parents was enough for his stomach to twist painfully. 

“Creators know.” She shrugged. “The Avvar do what they want. Is meeting her parents really so frightening?”

Yes… they did. It was terrifying.

“It…” Cullen ran a hand over his face. “I have not comported myself well either in the Ferelden manner or the Avvar manner.” Maker’s breath… he really hadn’t acted like a proper… suitor in either world. No wonder she was so uncertain. He was supposed to be accepting her claim but was not doing anything in the proper way. 

“Don’t take it too hard.” She laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “I’m sure you’re expected to-“

“I know what is expected of me.” He cut her off wearily. He knew, he did not need the Inquisitor reminding him. 

She blinked at him. “-be... yourself.”

“Be… myself?” He looked at her in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s something my Keeper always told me.” The Herald said slowly, eyeing him with a confused expression. “It means to just… act as you normally would, and if they care for you without pretense, then it means they actually care.” She shrugged. “She likes you, let her father see the man she likes versus what’s expected.”

That would be excellent advice in a different situation. It was not advice one gave to an arranged match. Did she even… know of the matter? She seemed to think it was as her and Lugh’s romance. She was Dalish, she might not know about matches of alliance… He opened his mouth to ask her, but-

“I don’t see you joining in on the fun… like at Haven.” She said in a singsong tone as if she were giving a hint away.

Right. And… he had enjoyed the games. And Aria had seemed delighted when he joined in. He drained his drink and shifted his legs to make sure his… problem had abated before he stood. “You are right.” 

“Of course I am, I’m the Big Inquisitor now!” She said, laughing at her own joke.

“You might need a pair of stilts for that title.” He retorted without thought, and then had an apology on the tip of his tongue for the quip but she simply burst into renewed laughter, then turned to call to one of the Avvar. 

He allowed himself a small smile before searching out Aria and her father, the two standing and watching the rope pull. Cullen watched her for a moment, laughing and joking with her father, then looked towards the games. They… were an honest people. Open about their feelings. They laughed and cried openly, declared their interests and dislikes. There was… no pretense. They did not pretend to… care about anything or anyone they did not actually care about. Aria… did not pretend to care. She cared about him.

Certainly, this match was not one he would have chosen, but… it was unfair for Aria to… care and for him to not… at least try. 

He set aside his tankard and went to join the games. Perhaps he might keep his footing this time in the rope pull. 

He did well, enjoying the physical exertion, and could feel a honest smile of delight when his team won, receiving several comradely slaps on the shoulder by others. When he left the rope to go to the next game, he saw several of his own men set aside their gauntlets in order to join in.

There were no ice walls to scale but this did not seem to discourage them from finding another treacherous climb… namely the tower wall. It was… foolish but Cullen still found himself drawing a bone for the races and handing his armor over to Knight-Captain Rylen. He did not race Aria this time, but a younger avvar mage who looked barely out of boyhood. 

The wall was old and much of the mortar loose, making for a treacherous hold, he lost his foot hold and nearly fell several times, but he completed the climb. His muscles ached with strain but he had done it. The Avvar mage was there barely a breath behind him and said something in his native tongue. It took a minute, but Cullen eventually figured he was offering to heal his hands. 

He hesitated, but his hands were bloody from cuts that mortar, and stone that had dug into his hands where calluses from his sword did not protect. The boy looked earnest and slightly hopeful and so he found himself nodding. The boy mended his hands with a furrow between his brows, first washing the cuts out with that stinging potion Aria made before sealing them with a flare of magic. It was done by the time he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Well done, Godendwlid!” Bjorn congratulated and Cullen looked up from his hands to see Aria looking at him in… was that pride? 

“Aye. Well done.” She said in a softer tone. Then she smirked. “Maybe one day you can best me, aye?” 

Raj’s words rang in his head ‘be himself’ and he smiled… open, honest. “I think I have once already, darling.” He retorted playfully, then flushed. 

She blushed and looked away. “Aye, that you have.” 

Bjorn looked positively gleeful and grabbed his shoulder and then hers and pushed them towards the stairs with a scolding phrase in his native language. Cullen glanced at Aria for translation, only to see her looking mortified as she replied in kind. Another shove from the Thane and a slightly louder response had Aria grabbing Cullen’s hand and breaking into a run. 

He found himself breathless and actually laughing when she pulled him into his- their tent. “What was that about?” 

She let out a groaning string of curses and collapsed onto… their bed with her hands over her face. “The man is insufferable!”

Cullen cocked his head and moved to sit next to her, bending to remove his boots. “He seems to care a great deal for you and Lugh.” 

She sighed and relaxed, though her hands stayed over her face. “Aye, he does. He was- is a good father, though we did not make it easy for him. He… wants us to be happy, like he was. Wed to a pretty person and with children of our own.” 

Ah, and they were back to that. Cullen forced himself not to freeze as he removed his other boot. “And… what do... you want?” 

She blushed beneath her fingers. “I… do not know.” She admitted quietly. “I… have been preparing for a… destiny since before I could walk. I do not know… what is left after that.” 

Cullen hesitated before laying down on his back next to her… he could do this… his shoulder slightly brushed hers. “I don’t… know what kind of a life I… could give you after… if there is an after.”

She stilled and then exhaled sharply and let out that strangled noise again before speaking slowly and quietly. “I… could see you in my hold.” 

He turned his head to look at her, her eyes were still on the canvas of his- their tent. Could she? “And?” What did she want? Where did she see them going?

Aria turned her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face uncertainly. “What…?” She paused and then sighed and closed her eyes. “We can ford that stream when we come to it, aye? First we must defeat this Corypheus lest there is no future for anyone.” 

He felt a curl of disappointment in his stomach at the obvious evasion but he nodded. “Yes… I suppose so.” 

They laid there for a moment and he wondered at his attempt before to do as Josephine suggested… and her father seemed insistent but… “May I… kiss you?” He felt his face flame at the request.

She was still for a moment, not even breathing and he feared… he didn’t know quite what he feared, but then she was moving, quick and powerful and he barely had time to register that she was straddling his waist before her hands cradled his face and her mouth was on his. 

He felt lost… frozen for a moment in his uncertainty at what was happening. Perhaps it was the drink in his blood, but her fingers in his hair made him sigh involuntarily, her mouth muffling it, her weight over him was grounding as much as it was torturous. 

She kissed like she was searching for something, murmuring in her native tongue between kisses, a question, a statement, he thought, when he put his hands on her hips, he heard praise. He liked that, searched for it again, working his fingers under her furs and the hem of her shirt to stroke over the soft skin there, splaying his hands over her back and pulling her more firmly against him when she made an approving noise into his mouth. 

He pulled her closer, his body reacting to the way she felt against him, and tried to mirror the things she was doing with her tongue when she suddenly pulled back, sitting up and looking at him with wide eyes. She was panting, her chest shuddering with every breath and her face… she looked terrified. 

He felt suddenly afraid that he had asked too much, had misread- and reached up to lay his hand on the side of her face. “Aria… I will not hurt you.” 

She swallowed and shook her head slowly. “Not like this, no.” 

His body had reacted to her, and he could not deny that it… that he desired her at this moment but… “do you want to sleep?” He asked gently, allowing his thumb to caress her cheek. Gentle, reassuring. This was not his plan, he had only asked for a kiss… that was all. 

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “Aye.” she didn’t move for a moment, staying still atop him before she rolled off and onto her back on the bed, her eyes still closed. She let out a breath before quietly speaking. “You… treat me as if I am delicate, sometimes. I… am unused to it.” 

Ah. she was a warrior, respected and feared in turn by her people, did he offend? “Forgive-“

“I… like it.” She said suddenly, then turned her head away from him in effort to hide her blush. 

He watched her in awe at the admission… was that what she desired? Was that what she craved? Not to be seen as the volatile and dangerous thing that her people seemed to expect? But… “You are beautiful.” He whispered quietly, memories of his father daily telling his mother those words. ‘A reminder’ he had said, ‘a reminder to her that she was more than what the world saw.’ 

She huffed dismissively, but he saw a ghost of a smile on her face. “As are you.” 

He gave her a slight smile, “As you often remind me. But it is you that seems to need to be reminded.” 

She was quiet again before blurting out. “I made soap with the flowers you gave to me. They… should be done curing within a fortnight.” 

He was fairly certain that was… a way of saying she had liked them, that she had immediately put use to them. “I’m glad you… found them useful.” He should perhaps give her more. “Are… there any you… favor?” Maker, he was terrible at this.

“I… have not often been given flowers.” She threw her arm over her face. 

“I do not often give them… never actually.” He huffed slightly.

“What a pair we make.” She murmured, then sighed, the sigh quickly turning to a groan. “Lugh makes it look so  _ easy _ .” 

Yes… yes, he did. Cullen envied him slightly. Only slightly. He gave a slight groan. “We should rest.”

Aria gave him a slight nod but didn’t move… he sighed and turned over on his side, leaving her plenty of room to lay without touching him, deciding it best to let her decide if she wanted to continue as they had the previous nights. She was still for a long time before moving and hesitantly draping her arm over his waist and pressing her face into the back of his neck. It was… comfortable, and it was not long before he began to drift to sleep under the warmth of her.

He was so close to sleep he was almost sure he imagined it when he felt her lips press against the nape of his neck and she murmured, “We would make beautiful children.”

  
  
  


The Father… their father. This was an unexpected turn of events but a turn Solas would admit he was glad had happened. He had asked himself often what kind of people could have raised individuals such as the twins?

For some reason, most likely Lugh’s solemn composure and Aria’s fierce… fierceness, he had not… expected their father to be so… so… He was loath to describe the man as ‘much’, but yet…

He was very much. Loud, energetic, laughter always near the surface, and many a back slap that would unfoot the ‘lowlanders’. Solas himself found himself on the receiving end of one such gesture of friendship. He had fortunately seen it coming and had planted his feet, but still it was enough to leave a bruise. He would heal it later.

The man paused when he did not stumble and looked over him, and Solas caught a glimpse of a sharp mind behind the jovial expressiveness before a smile was once again on the Avvar’s face. “Aye! You have come to join the games?” 

“I am afraid I am a bit slight to join in.” Solas said with a self deprecating head duck. He was very aware that since his… uncautious questioning of The Sky Touched she had been pointedly avoiding him, and her people had taken note. They watched him closely, cautiously. They remained as accepting as ever, but the openness was gone. They suspected him of something, and he could not risk both their suspicion as well as the Inquisition’s. The Avvar were more prone to leaps of ‘impossible’ than most humans. 

“Bah. Nonsense.” The thane exclaimed then paused to look him over, it was a trial to keep his back hunched at the obvious evaluating gaze. “I’m sure we can find a game or two that would fit ye.” 

His pride bristled at the obvious estimation of his ability, but he kept his face passive, aware that the man's eyes had not left him yet. 

“I am Thane Bjorn.” The man said, holding his arm out in the Avvar greeting.

“Solas.” He clasped arms with the man and then kept his face straight when he felt the man quite obviously note the strength of his forearms. This was one such as Lugh, who’s sharp mind was hidden by their outward bulk that left many to assume they were slow. As was also the case with the Iron Bull.

He observed the games, and he observed Bjorn. The man was a capable leader, using his natural friendly nature to soothe over disputes easily, and his observations to head off budding disputes before they ever developed. He was also a capable warrior, on the few games the others pulled him into, he won easily. Solas was… amused to see him face off with his own son in the arm wrestling. They were near evenly matched, trading quips as they strained, neither hand moving an inch. 

After a few minutes, Bjorn laughed and let his arm relax, allowing Lugh to quickly gain victory. “Ah. There is no shame in losing to one’s own son. You take after your father.” 

Lugh laughed and stretched his shoulder. “Truth.”

Both of them suddenly looked over to where a pair of low- Inquisition soldiers were beginning to raise their voices with a pair of Avvar warriors. Both men moved at the same time, then glanced at each other. Lugh tilted his head in obvious concession and Bjorn moved towards the dispute, speaking loudly in Alammari in a friendly tone. It was clear from the brief interaction that Lugh respected his father. 

It was… difficult to manage to speak to Bjorn without being obvious about it. With the resident Avvar’s mistrust it would not do to be seen as… stalking the visiting thane. He sighed slightly when the man was swept up to oversee another game and turned to perhaps find- He paused at the sight of Aria Sky Touched standing behind him, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. 

“Have you found what you are looking for?” She asked shortly. 

Because of course she had noticed his interest. “Not yet.” He answered honestly.

“He is a good man. I would not rest if aught happened to him.” She warned, her aura flaring in a controlled crackle of warning, obviously taking his interest as a threat… what had he done to deserve that? He wondered. 

“I am simply curious.” He lifted his hands in a peaceable gesture. “Your people are fascinating.”

She did not look appeased, so he added a risky truth. “You and your brother are unique individuals and I am curious of what manner of people raised you both.” 

She snorted and looked away. “Ah. That is-” She froze, her eyes widening, and then she grinned. “Another time.” With that she started jogging towards the steps to the wall. 

He looked in the direction she had, and felt a sudden unexpected rush of exasperation at the sight of the Commander scaling the wall against an Avvar youth. He frowned at the emotion, why should her rushing off to observe the Commander elicit such a feeling? Bjorn had also made his way to the top of the wall, so Solas drifted in that direction, making sure the progression looked aimless, a confused lowlander lost in the commotion. He reached the top of the wall near to the time the Commander won the race, heaving himself over the edge with a triumphant smile and bloody hands. 

He expected the ex-templar to decline the evident avvar mage still in training’s offer of healing, but he tilted his head as the commander nodded and held out his hands and then- Solas froze in shock as the magic of not just the mage but…. Harmony knitted the commander’s bloodied hands back together. 

He felt shock and… relief that such a practice would survive. Tyrdda had searched for a way for her people to learn their magic safely and he had suggested the bonding as the Elvhen had done. It had taken some trial and error to figure out a safe bonding with the veil in place, it required the spirits to trust that the Avvar would release them when the time came… it was difficult enough of a ritual that he had assumed it would have died out of practice. Aria and Lugh were singular enough that he had dismissed their own bondings as something unique to them, despite their nonchalant attitude towards it. An assumption on his part. 

Why did it always come back to him assuming something? Wisdom would be gleeful at the thought. 

The Commander did not seem to notice that the boy was not alone in his healing attempts, for this he was grateful. The boy was young and had potential. 

The Sky Touched and Bjorn praised the Commander for his win, and the commander said something that left Aria blushing and unable to look him in the eye. Bjorn laughed then grasped both his daughter and the Commander’s shoulders and pushed them towards the stairs with a cheerful, loud command in Alammarri, “Go, celebrate. Perhaps a grandchild will come of it!” 

“Father! Nay, I-” Aria started to protest, but Bjron cut her off.

“I do not grow younger as the years pass, a grandchild would be nice, aye?”

Aria flushed crimson and then… grasped the Commander’s hand and fled with him. Bjron laughed and Solas braced himself, and as expected, the man’s hand landed on his back. 

“Ah, it warms my heart to see her so.” Bjorn said in delight as the pair raced directly to the Commander’s tent.

He frowned as the two disappeared into it, unable to give name to the emotion in his gut at the sight. “Do you not worry about her ability to care for a child? They are not bonded.” He asked. Before, the entire tribe cared for children, but he did not wish to assume it was still so. See, Wisdom, he could still learn.

“Nay, the entire tribe aids in the raising of the young.” Bjorn disagreed. “Children require more care than two can give easily.” He paused and then winced. “Well… Aria and Lugh were… Well. Not many had the patience for them.” 

“They do seem… singular.” Solas prodded cautiously.

“Aye. Some parents pray to the gods for a blessed child, those with blessed children know better.” Bjorn laughed. “Her first word was ‘bath’. But enough reminiscing! Come, you will climb the wall, yes?” 

A refusal was on the tip of his tongue but… the unnamed feeling at seeing Aria drag away the Commander to attempt for children sat ill with him, and his- bah. He could figure out his own reasoning later. It had been a long time since he had indulged in a physical game. A very, very long time. “I will attempt, at least.” He conceded. 

He was not given a bone as the others before and was just shoved towards the wall with a lean framed (yet still massive) Avvar who looked to be from Bjorn’s hold judging by the placement of his furs. He supposed they did not want to give him the chance to change his mind. He looked at the old wall, gauging the possible paths as he cast a focused barrier over his hands to protect them. The signal to start was given and he moved quickly, following the handholds he had noted beforehand. At one point, the handhold began to give under him and he had to swing to a new path as the mortar began to crumble under his fingers. It was… entertaining. He enjoyed searching out the route to the top. 

The air was thin, but his physical form had rested in this place long enough for him to be accustomed to it. He was not accustomed to racing up cliff faces, however much he had trained his body back into usefulness, and was out of breath by the time he brought himself over the edge of the wall. Out of breath and pleased with himself, his opponent was yet to be halfway up the wall. 

“Aye! You did well!” Bjorn announced. “One would think you’ve climbed this wall before!”

“Nay, it has been a very long time since I have raced.” He said with a pleased chuckle.

There was a silence after his words and he realized with a jolt of self admonition that he had been spoken to in Alammarri and had replied in kind. Bjorn was looking at him with a grin splitting his face, a triumphant expression of one who had gained the information they had been seeking. 

Pala. 

Solas sighed and committed, speaking still in alammari. “I see where Lugh inherited his wiles.” 

The man laughed and slapped his shoulder again. “Ah, but you have not met his mother yet! Come and drink with me. I feel we can have an interesting conversation.” 

Indeed.

He needed to be more careful. 

Wisdom would be laughing at him before morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It Goes On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531253) by [Fireplace_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireplace_Dragon/pseuds/Fireplace_Dragon)




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